For Being a Little Bad
by Batteredpen
Summary: When Harry is absent from the Grid the newcomer Ruth Evershed finds herself being blackmailed by the new Section Head. How fortunate then that she meets a helpful stranger. Kudos created characters belong the Kudos the rest in my own
1. Chapter 1: He had a Dream

_**This is something of an experiment for me. Firstly it is intended - at least in part - as an HR story although Ruth doesn't appear in the first few chapters. Secondly while I've used various characters and references from the series it is an AU story featuring the more ebullient Harry of the earlier episodes. As this year happens to be a Shakespeare century and over the next few weeks we are likely to be barded stiff (sorry couldn't resist the pun) this is my effort to pay homage by basing the story very very loosely on the problem play 'Measure for Measure'. I'm not sure how frequently I'll be able to post but having published a chapter I will have an incentive to try and update within reasonable time.**_

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 **'A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.' (Act 3 Scene 2 line 151)**

 _The Home Secretary's Office: early afternoon_

He'd made it. Finally. After all the years of struggle, the careful networking, the judicious shafting of likely rivals, not to mention the hours spent in the seemingly eternal cycle of boring meetings he'd successfully seen off all comers, and now he was basking in the enjoyment of his well earned, thoroughly deserved reward.

Sinking backwards into the soft leather comfort of his desk chair the newly appointed Home Secretary emitted a self satisfied sigh. As his eyes idled their way across the room, he was taking time out to gloat over the material symbols of his success. The expensive foot deadening pile carpet, the oak lined walls, the rich red damask curtains softening the stark wooden frames of the long windows through which the warming rays of spring sunshine were tracing their gradual daily progress. Noting that the crystal glasses and decanters placed upon a discreetly positioned side table were standing to a sparkling attention although tempted he rejected the idea of indulging in yet another celebratory snifter. He had a meeting scheduled and he'd been advised, with more than a hint of malicious pleasure by the outgoing incumbent, that when dealing with this particular individual he needed to keep his wits about him.

Personally he thought the advice superfluous. In addition to outmanoeuvring his predecessor, now summarily despatched to enjoy an unwanted retirement in the politician's graveyard, aka The House of Lords, he had also, against all the odds, and as a total outsider, arrived at the near pinnacle of his career. Beyond this building, within the so called real world habitually ignored by the inhabitants of the Westminster bubble -until it was time to canvass votes - the public was becoming increasing weary of a government dominated by an endless parade of glossy public school boys, squawking their grave insistence that as ' _we are all in it together'_ belts must be tightened. Out of touch snobs, every last one of them, especially when, as the possessors of substantial private incomes, they themselves were amply cocooned from the cold winds of the austerity they were so smugly advocating for everyone else. Which probably accounted for his three days since appointment being hailed by members of the usually hostile press with supposedly complimentary headlines. His immediate kneejerk reaction to such descriptions as, _'The common man triumphs'_ and _'The rough diamond shines',_ had been to consider accosting the journalists responsible for these demeaning statements and demand what the hell they meant by categorising his august self as _'common_ ' and ' _rough_ '. While his solid lower middle class _'first in his family to go to Oxbridge'_ background meant that he lacked the conspicuous polish and privileges of the dominant Eton coterie, anyone reading those words could quite have easily mistaken him for one of the union sponsored oiks who populated the opposition benches. He'd strategically abandoned that plan when his own private spin doctor, after an exhaustive combing of the ubiquitous social media, had advised him that, judging by the bell weather comments of the Twitterati, being depicted as the token prole wasn't doing him any harm at all in the eyes of the permanently discontented mob who formed the electorate. Safely ensconced in this office, he was now revelling in the knowledge that he was a popular choice. His only superior was the prime minster, and well... no one went on forever. Enticing images of the possible future began to dance across his consciousness... The sun was shining, the birds outside were singing in tuneful chorus. All was well in his world.

Then Harry Pearce walked through the door.

Half an hour later, as the door snapped shut behind his visitor, the sun had dimmed, the birdsong was now resembling a pneumatic drill of the noisier variety, and, as he blindly groped for the migraine tablets, one of his predecessor's more welcome legacies, he was assailed by the nightmare thought that he might - excluding the victims of the Phoenix Park murders - go down in history as the shortest holder of office on record. Confronted by the bulldozer that was Harry Pearce he'd been unable to argue, not least because of the jaw dropping nature of the shockingly audacious plan presented for his nominal approval. He should have said no, he knew he should have insisted upon an alternative scheme, but Pearce's choice, underwritten by a no doubt equally bullied DG, didn't allow for that option. Until now he'd been under the impression that government officers took their instructions from him, instead he'd found himself blindly obeying the orders of yet another public school boy, the chief one of which was to maintain absolute secrecy from his cabinet colleagues. While, given the circumstances vouchsafed, he was more than willing to hold his tongue - exercising control over his anal sphincter was likely to prove more troublesome - he had an uneasy presentiment that which ever way you looked at the situation he was, to use the popular vernacular, stuffed.

a) If he rejected the scheme and the theory presented to him later proved correct the entire future of the country could be undermined, for which he would be blamed.

b) If the scheme as presented went horribly wrong, and in a sane world, ie not that MI5, such a madcap idea would have been instantly rejected as possessing all the hallmarks of a disaster in the waiting. In which case he'd be blamed.

c) Even if the suspicions outlined proved a chimera and everything returned to whatever passed as normal he'd be living in daily fear of blackmail by the security services every time they wanted an agreement. Their threat: a historic leak would reveal the spying plan he'd just agreed to. The price he'd pay: never mind the comforts of bomb stricken Coventry, politically speaking he'd be heading for the icy wilderness of a metaphorical Alaska.

d) If Pearce pulled it off and was proved accurate, the Prime Minister and his exclusive inner circle, forced to confront a scandal in their midst, would close ranks and blame him, as if he were the malefactor.

Crunching down the pills he began to sigh with nostalgia for the squashed anonymity of the back benches, coupled with dread of the mockery that would greet his almost certain ignominious return to that green leathered obscurity.

Floundering in the sinking sands of his career only one certainty remained. He'd just met the man for the first time, and he already hated Harry sodding Pearce.

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 ** _I haven't given the HS a name as he's a generic politician and probably won't appear again in this story. Incidentally I drafted this before the current ructions over politicians and tax avoidance._**

 ** _Thanks for reading. If you have a moment a review would be appreciated._**


	2. Chapter 2: On Hampstead Heath

**_Thanks to all who read and my kind reviewers for what is a venture into a completely different type of story for this writer. Apologies of the delay in updating. The cause of the delay, that minor issue called real life._**

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' **Every true man's apparel fits your thief'** (Act 4. Sc2. line 46)

 _Hampstead Heath: About Three weeks previously_

Weatherwise it had been lovely, one of those bright, warm, early spring days that accurately reflected Browning's longing ' _oh to be in England_ …" although the poet, hymning from the Victorian warmth of sunny Italy may have felt somewhat less homesick had he endured the previous three days of steady rainfall. Out here on Hampstead Heath the green, and as a result of those previous three days of downpourings in mild temperatures, the very very green and sodden lung of London, it was easy to fool oneself that you were in the heart of the countryside. Wending his way onto the heath, past the Pryors and taking the tree lined Little Avenue path Harry Pearce inhaled the fresh air, richly laden with the scent of damp grass, appreciatively. It was always with a feeling of release that he escaped the environs of Whitehall in general, and desk bound existence inside his artificially lit glass plated office in particular.

As he approached the meeting point designated in the dead drop Harry was wondering afresh as to why exactly Tom had broken protocol to request a face to face chat. His first more obvious thought had been discounted almost as immediately as it had rippled through his mind. A professional to his fingertips Tom was currently skulking in deep cover, having successfully infiltrated a people cum drug trafficking ring suspected of smuggling in more potent weapons of destruction than HIV and other related STD's. Had his legend been blown he would undoubtedly have availed himself of the agreed exit strategy, consequently the only logical conclusion was that while his pseudo criminal mask remained fixed in place some unexpected and urgent circumstance had emerged. Harry was hard put though to think of any event serious enough to justify his own current jaunt into the wide open spaces of the heath. Trained by Harry it was most unlikely that Tom would have requested a meeting for the mere pleasure of gazing into Harry's amber eyes, or, just as unlikely, be risking his boss's legendary wrath for the sake of an idiosyncratic whim.

Further proof that Tom still felt secure in his adopted persona was attested by the time and place he'd selected for their conversation. The Viaduct Bridge, more or less central to the park, but still distant enough to provide Harry with some much needed healthy exercise, was approached by a solitary footpath, the bridge itself was open enough to avoid attracting suspicion that nefarious deeds were afoot, while offering a degree of privacy, courtesy of a living framework of well established foliage surrounding both ends. Crucially the greenery was just distant enough to gift any would be eavesdropper with near insuperable difficulties. The appointed hour was also a subtle choice, precisely calibrated to take place during the teatime slot, when families and day trippers would be departing homewards, but a still little too early for the cruising clientele to have emerged. For now, for Harry, it was no hardship to enjoy strolling beside the trees, their freshly minted branches delicately emerging from the light green lace stage of budding, gently illuminated with that special quality of promise the early spring light always seemed to scatter across the landscape.

Not for the first, second, or even third time Harry was experiencing a pang of regret for his terminated existence as a field officer. However often he reminded himself that all the fortunate who survived, more or less intact, the dangers of the field were inevitably subsumed into the decision making bureaucracy he still resented his enforced transformation from the sly fox of the undercover world into the tame goldfish of the Grid. His convoluted journey today actively demonstrating that his field skills remained as sharp as they'd even been, which was lucky given that he'd been obliged to dust them off in his wariness to avoid being tracked. It wasn't primarily his own cover that he was concerned about, technically he wasn't the one here under a legend, but he needed to protect Tom Quinn, for whom any outing, let alone that of the type traditionally associated with the heath, would be disastrous. Progressing with a steady tread along the earth impacted pathway Harry was able to watch his destination gradually unfolding in the distance, the weathered reddish brown brick of the Viaduct, a colourful contrast to the skeletal bushes that enclosed it from either side. From this vantage point the bases of its five arches, more industrial than graceful, arose like solid legs conveying the impression that the entire construction was rooted in the pond lapping at its feet, a vision of broken reflections highlighted with the odd sun kissed sparkle. Glancing at his watch Harry realised that if he maintained his current pace he'd arrive a little early, dreadful tradecraft, but experienced spy that he was he'd recognised the necessity of blending in with the usual clientele of tourists and nature lovers who haunted the park, to which end he'd discarded his usual business dress of three piece suit and silk tie in favour of sturdy walking boots, casual trousers and a waxed jacket. An ensemble accessorised by a pair of binoculars and a small back pack, an outfit designed to convey the impression to any casual observer that he was a bird watcher. Approached and then passed by a couple walking in the opposite direction his ploy seemed to have worked. Neither spared him a glance as, totally absorbed in themselves, their hands wandered over one another while their heads were practically conjoined. It was only as he noted the tell tale muddy smears scarring the retreating back of the girl's jacket and a stray leaf lodging in her hair, that it suddenly occurred to Harry that he might have made a minor misjudgement. Should he be forced to break out the binoculars he could just as easily be tagged as a voyeur.

Fortunately he was spared that risk. The individual he'd come to meet was already in place, standing at the far side of the bridge, partially sheltered from obvious view by the overhanging trees and the screen of bushes, brown and dry, but encouraged by the re-appearance of the sun just beginning to develop the tender shoots that preceded the summer. Tall, dark and brooding the man was leaning against the black iron guard rail and staring moodily into breeze ruffled waters below, idly watching a pair of grebes as they bobbed around, oblivious to little except the need to eat. Alerted by the crunch of Harry's feet Tom turned his head, his eyes suddenly wary. An expression that vanished in an instant to be replaced with one of his rare smiles.

"Harry in person. I thought you might send Danny. Glad to see you."

Harry, casting an appraising glance over his Section Chief thought he seemed tired, an impression conveyed by the definite five o'clock shadow across his face and dark circles below his eyes. Tom must have registered this as he explained succinctly,

"We work nights. I'm supposed to be grabbing some sleep at present."

"Well we'd best be quick – so Tom…what's this about?"

"To be honest I'm not sure but…" now he was looking uncharacteristically nervous, "it might be nothing but…"

Harry, interjecting with just a hint of impatience, halted these uncertain ramblings as he sought to haul Tom into a more incisive mode of communication, "So what is biting you? It's either spook instinct or the slipstream from funny cigs has curdled your brain."

Tom's face lit up again as he choked back a laugh, "I've missed your sarcasm Harry, but for your information the gang might traffic drugs but they aren't users themselves. The boss man objects to having his profits drained." Continuing he admitted, "This might be something or nothing, but he has a sister."

"And a cousin and aunt no doubt, what of it?"

Tom homesick for the Grid was savouring this exchange as he delivered the crux of his information "She works in some men's club …"Touch…something. I didn't catch the exact name, but she's employed as a hostess."

Harry was able to supplement this tentative description. "' _Touchstones_ ', I know of it. It's a so called gentleman's club. Basically an expensive drinking den, optional gambling, attractive hostesses, and discretion guaranteed courtesy of a massive level of security. Populated by a high end clientele there to network and relax." Seeing a questioning expression flicker across Tom's face Harry assured him, "I'm not a member myself, even though they do stock well matured malt. Like any establishment where the great and not so good gather we check it out. As such establishments go it's relatively vice free, even the hostesses are exactly that, not shall we say, for sale."

Relived that he wasn't conveying totally obscure Intel Tom expanded on his initial statement. "I knew that last bit from odd comments her brother had made earlier – given his crime empire he keeps firm tabs on his sister's activities. That's what's bothering me." Noting Harry's unimpressed frown he continued, "I'd managed to set a bug in the boss man's private office for other reasons. I've taped other conversations with the sister. Incidentally I get the impression that she thinks her brother's legit." Harry's sceptical snort made him hurry on. "Anyway she was concerned because one of her friends had been virtually attacked in the club. Over rampant drunken male who couldn't keep his hands off her."

Harry really was beginning to wonder if sleepless nights were affecting Tom's judgement. If he knew the policies of the club why put the entire operation at risk? So it was a ramped up quotient of irascibility that he scathingly commented, "Who presumably was shown the door as the management wants to preserve its spotless reputation."

"That's the point, when she and a couple of the other girls finally managed to drag him off and said they'd report him he claimed that they could do that if they ,but he was valuable to the management."

Harry had heard that one more times than he cared to remember. "Sounds like the Bullingdon club version of do you know who I am…"

Tom nodded in agreement. "That was my thought, except he wasn't shown the door and the girl was sacked."

Curiouser and curiouser, "And the name of this charmer – him, not her? "

"Giles Smthye-Banford."

At that revelation Harry's eyebrows headed northwards by a centimetre although he confined his reply to,

"So Bullingdon Club indeed," with, after a brief beat to digest what he'd just heard, "Not exactly discreet considering that he allegedly works for MI6." The ' _allegedly_ ' interspersed in the sentence because from the little Harry knew of the man he suspected that the said Giles worked chiefly for the benefit of his own ego, with the security of the nation coming in as a rather laggardly second.

"According to Crystal – that's the sister's name – he was drunk. As I said it could be nothing, maybe the girl led him on or…"

Harry having been dubious a few minutes ago was now infected by Tom's unease, a virus of mental disquiet having just been transmitted seamlessly from spy to spy. "At the very least he's being indiscreet – not the finest attribute for a spy, or even an over promoted desk officer." Aware that Tom still seemed troubled and needing him reassured before he was chucked back into the stews of spying Harry promised. "I'll have a few words in an appropriate ear." Then by way of changing the subject asked, "Otherwise how are you managing? Any chance of your returning to the Grid shortly?"

Tom recalled to his current mode of life shook his head, "Okay but slowly. But you know how these operations work." Covering his lapse of tact, indeed who did know better than Harry the painstaking nature of undercover work, he hurriedly added, "I wish it was quicker given how short handed you are." Expanding on the theme Tom's hunger for news gave way to a sudden burst of curiosity as he asked, "Who did you make temporary Chief, Zoe or Danny?"

Harry smirked, "Since Zoe has also inherited some of Tessa's load after her er… precipitate departure to enjoy HMP's luxury accommodation I thought I'd encourage them both to try and impress, so I split the job."

Tom processed this, mirroring Harry's smirk, before replying – "So that's why you came yourself, to get out of earshot of the bickering!"

Harry, who made a point of never sounding envious that he'd left the field, ignored that leading comment in favour of disgorging a further titbit of information, "The strain might mitigate a little when the new analyst takes up their post."

That last was, of course, catnip to the out of touch Tom, "So you finally found one!" His astonishment reflecting the fact that Harry, with his exacting standards, had acquired a reputation for going through analysts the way other Section Heads went through Kleenex. "Good luck this time then, when does he start?" all the while quietly wondered if he could lay a surreptitious bet on the probable length of the unfortunate's sojourn in Section D.

"Her actually. She's currently working her notice at GCHQ. I've had to give her a permanent contract."

"Isn't that a little risky. Suppose she doesn't fit in." Even as he uttered the words Tom recognised the utter idiocy of the statement. Harry had several ways of dumping unsatisfactory staff whatever their employment terms, only some of which were technically legal.

"I'm assured she will and her CV is very impressive, speaks at least ten languages, sadly not Martian which might have been useful when Malcolm is in full technical flow. She also has glowing references from GCHQ who didn't what to lose her but agree that a classicist – she had a first in Classics – "

"From Oxford I assume."

"Is there another university? Other than that place located in the Fens. Anyway she seemed rather wasted among the mathematicians so their HR department approached ours as they'd heard Section D had a vacancy."

A female: permanently there. Recalling some of the shenigans before Tessa has been unveiled as criminally corrupt Tom, despite the perils of his current task, was almost thankful that he'd not be around to arbitrate in what promised to be the rocky re-arrangements of the Grid's inter gender dynamics. "Well as least with Tessa gone she'll provide some feminine company for Zoe….or do I mean a rival?"

"Possibly either, or both. I have to admit I haven't actually met her." Tom's look of amazement could have been seen back at the Grid without benefit of a telescope, "The day I'd agree to interview her we had a major alert – a gas leak in Wandsworth."

"That wasn't a gas leak I presume."

"Exactly, and then the next date, which was today, she's had some family trouble and had to take leave of absence to go Exeter for a few days. Still from her photo she seems personable, but not glamourous enough to turn heads, and as I said GHCQ aren't keen to lose her which in itself is a recommendation. "

Looking across the pond and noticing that the area was nearly deserted Harry sighed, "Well that's you updated Tom and I think…"

"I know I'm on my way." As Tom spoke he pushed himself up from the parapet he'd been leaning against. No further speech was forthcoming from either man. They both knew that Tom was heading back into danger, an unspoken acknowledgement for which goodbyes seemed superfluous, see you soon probably unlikely, take care a given, and good luck a wish that sounded banal.

Watching Tom's tall upright back as he disappeared down the path that he'd previously arrived by Harry gave a sigh as soon as he was well out of earshot. This truly was the worst part of the job, sending his staff into the unknown and being obliged to view any injuries thus incurred as collateral damage. Even worse, if possible, was his having to give the impression that he himself was as hard as the concrete he was currently standing upon. Those of desk spook pedigree usually managed it more easily; they hadn't experienced the field and its dubious joys. Harry might mourn his past but he was only too aware of the risks. His own career having left him with a legacy of suffering in the form of a lifelong ache in his dodgy knee plus a variety of scars, the tracings of the latter meaning that he usually preferred to make love with the lights off. Otherwise coitus was not infrequently interruptus when his partner for the night, having glimpsed his naked body, began demanding awkward explanations as a substitute for foreplay.

Casting a final glance at the wind ruffled waters, the original pair of grebes had now been joined by a couple of others intent on feeding before seeking their roost for the night, he moved away. Heading back along his own initial route but reluctant to forsake his all too brief opportunity to enjoy some quiet he decided to divert and took the upward path leading to the rough open grassy spot that rejoiced in the name of Parliament Hill, guessing correctly that at this time of day the broad crest of land would be nearly deserted. Savouring the solitude, and feeling the need to sit quietly and ponder upon Tom's news, Harry availed himself of the wooden comfort of one of the plank style seats. Once settled he gazed at the breath taking sight spread before him. Etched against the cloud streaked light blue sky, now gently dulling with the onset of early evening, lay the outline of London in all its infinite, endless, ever changing variety **.** Ordinary houses and streets marking the lower boundary of the Heath and then further away the view that gave the mound its name. The Houses of Parliament beyond which lay the more distant St Paul's, grid points in architectural form of traditional England, brick built references to that long ago era when city life was dominated by the countless churches and the Inns of Court, now struggling not to be completely drowned by the more recently constructed monstrously large, bizarrely shaped commercial buildings, symbolic perhaps of the ever increasing stranglehold that big business seemed to be exerting over the affairs of state. As his eyes roamed over the open panorama of the city he'd dedicated much of his mortal span trying to protect from the depredations of nose in trough politicians, greed ridden oligarchs, creed driven terrorists and other assorted scum, Harry's mind was occupied in chewing over the information Tom had dropped in his lap. If repeated to most of his acquaintance, not that such was his intention, Harry could guarantee that their reaction would be along the lines that Giles was simply boasting, a drunken spook conveying a misplaced mystique fuelled by nothing more pernicious than an excess of alcohol, stupid but not criminal. Harry half thought that himself, it was the most likely explanation, and yet, like Tom, he was niggled by a worm of doubt that he was desperately trying to analyse.

Was it because while he'd only had the briefest of acquaintance with the man he'd not liked what he'd seen? A smooth spoken public schoolboy slathered with that usual sheen of confidence and its inevitable companion, an automatic expectation of deference, although for what was not exactly clear. Otherwise Harry's knowledge was largely from hearsay. To be fair, which was something of push, the man while parachuted into the service through not a little string pulling had proved to be efficient, formidably so, rapidly ascending from the junior grades into a position of some responsibility and trust and was clearly on the fast track to greater things. An endeavour in which he had no doubt been aided by his influential connections

Perhaps that was why Harry was so prejudiced. Giles was so closely allied with their political masters it made him wary. A close friend of least five MPs, something that earned him a black mark in Harry's book, son of one of the PM's most long standing and closest friends, which further marked his card in Harry's mind, and to cap it all had recently announced his engagement to a peer's daughter, thus gaining entrée into the ranks of privileged hereditary aristocracy. A group with infinitely more historic prestige than the brown tongued individuals recently kicked up into the Lords. Harry admitted that these thoughts were unfair, but wasn't exactly bothered by that since, in his opinion, little in life was, and Giles seemed to have enjoyed more than his fair share of luck to date.

Again he returned to the nagging question: why was he so apprehensive? Connections and attitude aside the man had an exemplary work record. He'd never ever put a foot wrong within Legoland, that being a literal assertion culled from Harry's opposite number in Six. Although Harry and George Brenwood had indulged in many a professional sparring match, their working relationship was sufficiently tolerant to enable them to mutually prop up a bar on the odd occasion. A few months previously during a mellow session at Harry's club while they were celebrating that rarity, a joint operation that had actually gone to plan, a slightly worse for wear George had confided that the ever self publicising Giles was rule bound to say the least. All done by the book with the result that even George, never re-knowned for imagination or risk taking, had found himself moaning to Harry that, " _Whenever some action is suggested up he pops to remind me this is forbidden by Protocol 6a 7/10 or Section 19a para 4 footnote b. I keep recommending him for a secondment_." Too date that was one bullet point on his personal management by objectives plan that the hounded Mr Brenwood had comprehensively failed to fulfil. Apparently Giles' reputation had spread across the service and no Section Head willingly imported trouble, while George himself lacked both the ruthlessness and trickery that was second nature to Harry when it came to divesting himself of unwanted subordinates.

Considering the matter Harry decided that these facts, if facts they were and not simply prejudice, had some relevance to his unease, given that a member of the service with a haloed public persona was seemingly a habitué of an up market drinking den. In itself that only suggested a desire to further hobnob with the rich and influential, an action that Harry could account for, even if it did confirm his view that the man was a creep. What continued to puzzle him though was not only the thought that Giles, in attacking a woman while under the influence of alcohol was not, to put it mildly, sustaining the low profile required for a spy, but the fact that he remained a member of the club. Considering the exclusive nature of the membership list he was hardly existing at a strata, either personally or professionally, that justified his self important boast. Any organisation that attracted the clientele of ' _Touchstones_ ' was automatically accorded a position on the Service watch list. Not only had ' _Touchstones_ ' never featured in anything that could be described as louche or criminal, Harry knew for a fact that some surprisingly distinguished individuals, including a minor foreign royal, had been politely shown the door for conduct unbecoming.

Most likely this was a loose thread, but Harry had more than once followed that sense of unease and when pulled the said thread had led to an unravelling that had all the complexity of a Fair Isle sweater. That the incident had been suppressed by the ' _Touchstones_ ' management was came as no surprise to Harry, the club while strict in its expectations of behaviour made a selling point of its discretion, compared to which Thames House leaked like a colander.

Lost in his reverie he became aware of a presence, a presence that announced itself by sitting on the other end of the bench, raking Harry with eyes that lingered longingly over his groin before asking, "Do you have a light?" Even if Harry - whose reputation in certain areas of life meant that Casanova might reasonably have regarded him as the go to man for seduction tips - had been that way inclined he'd have passed on the unappetizing youth who was addressing him. Nicotine stained teeth, greasy hair, and clothing that looked like a particularly disgusting 'before 'part of a washing powder advert, didn't exactly cut it, as he replied curtly, "Only on Guy Fawkes night." Sadly the youth was not to be deterred as he wriggled his way ever closer to Harry, breathing noxiously in his ear, "Nice gent like yourself, needs a bit o' fun."

Harry, ever conscious of the need not to break cover, was about to get up and walk away but was prevented when the individual, as a hint of encouragement, unwisely placed his hand on Harry's thigh, his fingers wriggling towards what could euphemistically be described as the 'gentleman's area', an action that was a probe too far for Harry. For a brief moment the stranger thought his prayers had been answered as Harry pounced. Any brief pleasure that accrued from a firm grasp of balls, even if complete sensation was impeded by the rancid covering of the youth's denim jeans, was lost when the eyewatering squeeze advanced to an acute pain that left him yelping with agony. Sliding off the bench he sought refuge on the ground the moment the vice like fingers finally released him. When the breath did come back in gasps it was to announce, "You bastard, I'll have…."

Whatever the nature of that threat, which was unlikely bother Harry, it was interrupted by the precipitate appearance of one of the park rangers, summoned forth by the sound of decibel shattering screams. Arriving at a run he skidded to an earth churning halt, taking in the scene, before looking questioningly at Harry who simply informed him, "Nothing to worry about – just a little local misunderstanding". A statement that was instantly contradicted from somewhere just below Harry's feet with the accusation that, "This bastard assaulted me." Any hope of having Harry dropped into custody being extinguished when the ranger having caught sight of the complaint's ratty features commented wearily, "Not again Rob…just get on your way before I charge you."

Rob, despite having regained his breath was still sprawling in a prone position, staring sulkily at the Heath representative of the forces of law and order. Under an implacable glare from two sets of eyes he dragged himself upright and set off muttering further impotent threats under his breath. With his departure the ranger turned his unimpeded attention to Harry demanding, 'And off with you as well please", his stern intonation containing more than a suggestion that he wasn't entirely sure of the latter's innocence. Harry, although not obliged to clear himself, and aware that the prudent reaction to the peremptory order would to follow Rob's example and comply, was nonetheless unwilling to allow his pure reputation to be sullied by the implication that, in the first instance he was so desperate he'd go looking for sex in such a public haunt, along with the even more objectionable corollary that he'd ever consider sticking his intimate equipment inside such an unprepossessing individual. Acting on this probably unwise impulse he yanked out his id card, and thrust it under the ranger's nose. Divining from the expression of the latter that this had confirmed rather than assuaged his suspicions Harry sighed heavily, "Yes I know but I'm Oxford, Burgess was an alumni of Cambridge." Adding, "I'd really advise that young man to be careful, not everyone might be as gentle as I was."

Whatever the ranger's views on the Harry's gentle nature as manifested by the distant sight of a still doubled up Rob hopping downhill towards the Highgate ponds, he recognised authority when he heard it and didn't wish to seem wanting as he attempted to embark upon an explanation of his failure to take punitive action. "Sorry not to arrest but…." Only to be reassured by Harry, who, having dealt out his own version of justice - less an eye for an eye, more a ball for a ball - had no desire whatsoever to be called as a witness in any subsequent prosecution, not with all the attendant explanations that would be demanded regarding the reasons for his presence on the Heath.

"Not my concern, but thanks for coming along. You do never quite know what is happening."

A statement that had just decided him. Perhaps Giles Smythe-Banford was being traduced. Perhaps there was a simple explanation for the seeming mismatch between his public conduct and that private slip, but could Harry, now alerted to the outside possibility that Giles might have a case to answer, risk imperilling the nation's security. Equally he couldn't launch any official investigation into checking a suspicion that fundamentally rested upon the shaky foundations of a piece of second hand gossip spilling from the mouth of a crime baron's sister, overheard by an eavesdropping undercover officer who wasn't entirely sure of the facts. But pettifogging considerations of that nature never bothered Harry's head for overlong.

With that thought in mind he pulled out his mobile and briskly typed out a couple of texts, both carrying an identical command.

"Contact me. Harry."

Giles might have had a lucky life too date, but if he was by any chance up to covert no good his luck had just run out. Harry Pearce was on the case.

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 ** _Thanks for reading. If you have moment a review would be appreciated._**


	3. Chapter 3: The Three Spies

**Thank you all who reviewed the last chapter, as this is totally new ground for me it was very encouraging. Now the plot begins to thicken.**

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 **Our natures do pursue, -**

 **Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, -**

 **A thirsty evil; (Act 1 Sc 2 120)**

The first floor flat with its cream walls ornamented by simple framed prints of London landmarks, a beige pile carpet that matched the mid brown sofa and heavy weave curtain of a complementary shade, carried the all ambience of a comfortable hotel room. With nothing on display that could possibly to offend, a sense of the impersonal pervaded the premises currently inhabited by the three men gathered around the pine dining table, an object that was plain but of good quality, like everything else visible in the very bland, anodyne flat selected by Harry for their meeting place. To any dispassionate observer, unaware that they had happened upon the safe house habitat of that rarely seen species, the lesser spotted spy - three prize specimens of which were currently munching their way through the final morsels of a Chinese takeaway - it would have been a tough task to discover a more disparate group of individuals. In style and demeanour the trio ranged from the border line prim, and certainly very proper, Malcolm sitting bolt upright in his business suit, complete with firmly anchored tie, through to the louche denim clad Alec swigging his beer directly from the bottle. Seated between them as sort of human halfway house cum buffer zone was Harry, whose Savile row suit, albeit with slightly loosened tie, chimed with Malcolm's formality while disguising that temperamentally his submerged Action man tendencies held more in common with Alec.

Despite his privately acknowledged similarities to Alec, as the latter moved away from the table and proceeded to lounge on the sofa, sprinkling the carpet with odd fragments of prawn cracker as he did so, Harry was eyeing him very cautiously. Alec's food dusted journey being the precursor to his settling down to consume the remaining liquid sloshing around inside his third bottle of beer, the contents of which were being transferred to slosh around inside Alec with a rapidity that implied to Harry that the drinking problems responsible for Alec's summary dismissal from the service had not been completely resolved. While Harry was well aware that Alec's capacity for alcohol was even more awesome than his own it forcibly occurred to him that if the matter in hand was not wrapped up swiftly Alex would have to be tucked up to enjoy a night of drunken dreams on the very cosy sofa.

Watching Alec make himself comfortable, by the dint of throwing one dark brown velveteen cushion on to the floor to make room for his feet, while his head lolled against another at the far end of the said sofa, this not a notion that appealed to Harry. When Malcolm had hesitatingly enquired, ' _Er Harry is it wise to use a safe house to discuss a private black operation'_ Harry had brushed this objection aside with the unequivocal reassurance, _'not to worry Malcolm that address isn't on the books'_. Factually that statement had been entirely true. What Harry had deliberately omitted to mention was that the flat wasn't owned by the service at all, but had been bought a couple of years ago by Harry himself under a legend. Having inherited a substantial sum when his father died he'd broken the habit of a lifetime when availing himself of the parental advice that _'property is always a good investment'_. As a purchase it neatly served the dual convenience of providing him with a substantial nest egg, courtesy of the spiralling London prices, while, by doubling up as a shag pad, had also saved him a more immediate fortune in hotel bills whenever the spirit, or something rather earthier inside his trousers, moved him. Nothing in the flat, which he'd deliberately furnished in the neutral impersonal style more appropriate to a hotel room than a private residence, could actually give a clue as to the owner's true identity, but he was all too aware that at present he wasn't hosting his usual run of visitor. Not only were Malcolm and Alec uncompromisingly male, they both, despite their apparent differences, possessed one other important characteristic in common. They were spies. To be exact, his unknowing guests were two of the best in the business. For several years now Harry had been fending off Six's not very subtle attempts to poach Malcolm, while Alec, even when drunk, could run rings around most Thames House employees, hence his call up by Harry.

Now that all three of them had been satisfactorily fed and watered it was time to buckle down to the real business of the evening. After a brief interval, during which Harry performed the necessary housekeeping duties of depositing the debris of gooey cartoons into the outside bin, he returned to reclaim his seat at the table. Both men would have some report to make so who should he invite to speak first? And did pecking order matter. With Alec sprawled on the sofa, treating the place as if it was a more salubrious version of his own home, while Malcolm, seated to attention on the edge on the hard upright dining chair, seemed much less at ease, it was no contest. On a nod from Harry Malcolm cleared his throat while pulling his laptop towards himself, a form of electronic defence should anyone express disbelief at his findings, as if anyone would, given that Malcom was a by word for accuracy. Although sitting uncomfortably he began,

"My researches began with an examination of two key areas. Firstly the personal details of Giles Banford- Smythe. Secondly the management and financing behind Touchstones. A key finding is that despite coming from a monied background Giles himself is not a wealthy man. His income derives from an allowance from his father who gives all three of his children the same amount but has made it clear that beyond that they shift for themselves."

"Yes." Alec had interrupted unbidden, "I met him once when I was still with the service. He expects his children to be successful and would see any mess they got themselves into as proof of failure."

Malcolm waited until Alec had subsided before commenting. "Quite. Giles only other source of income is his salary, and we all know his pay scale. Seeing the query quivering on Harry's lips Malcolm second guessed him, "The flat in Kensington belongs to the family. Alec is allowed the use of it provided he pays the utility bills himself."

"You mean his Dad's ex shag pad", interjected Alec, blissfully unaware of the provenance and purpose to which the item of furniture he was currently stretched upon had used on multiple occasions. "I could tell you some stories….'

Before Malcolm could protest, and keen for Alec not to expand on this particular theme Harry intervened, "Later Alec, it it's relevant." With Alec silenced he turned to Malcolm, "Do I assume that Miles is in debt." Malcolm's reply was surprisingly equivocal. "Yes and no." Before Harry could demand enlightenment Malcolm hurried on with his dissertation, "Giles' income, while more than adequate for most people, does not match the profile of those who are usually members at Touchstones, which might explain why he has acquired some massive gambling debts."

While Harry forsook his normal stonefaced demeanour to groan, "Never good news with a member of the service," Alec abandoned his beer bottle to lean forward, his interest caught. Malcolm, more accustomed to eyes glazing over when he threatened to descend into detail gave a flicker of a smile, an indication that he was enjoying the limelight, even if his audience was limited to two. Pausing to savour the moment he continued, "Those debts seem to have been paid off in instalments, with about ninety thousand pounds still outstanding."

"Which," Harry growled, "raises the question of where the money came from."

Alec, proving that in his case at least medium sozzlement was no bar to perception, almost chuckled, "And I'm sure Malcolm is about to tell us….so…."

Malcolm gave his erstwhile colleague the briefest of nods as he proceeded to demonstrate the truth of Alec's assertion, "I followed the trail backwards from his bank account through various sub accounts, dummy companies, multiple names, but finally it all lead back to this man." Turning his laptop screen towards Harry and Alec he finally abandoned his deliberately neutral stance to voice a personal opinion. "A Russian oligarch who thankfully, given his history, remains firmly based in Russia."

Harry only heard those words vaguely as shockwaves of horror battered across his brain. He didn't know what he'd expected but it certainly wasn't this. Teasing his temporarily paralysed tongue into action he managed to utter his deeply felt personal agreement with Malcolm, "If Ilya Gavrik is at the bottom of this it really does mean trouble."

With Malcolm's next revelation the evening cantered even further downhill.

"It gets worse. I double checked and while Touchstones was originally an independent club it secretly was bought out sometime ago."

In a previous era Malcolm acting as the messenger would have been shot. A prospect Harry vaguely considered, while simultaneously wondering whether to put his head in his hands or run his fingers through what remained of his hair, as he asked, "Is this going where I think it's going?"

Malcolm saw no point in being less than succinct, "Yes the ultimate owner is Gavrik."

Alec, although more aware than Malcolm of the blood boltered details of Harry's past dealings with Ilya, nonetheless, having taken another refreshing swig chortled, "You have to admit it's a nice one, Ilya buys the club, gets Giles into his tolls and then pays him off while ensuring that he gets his own money back, plus whatever he got out of Miles in return." Noticing that Harry and Malcolm could have given Queen Victoria a run for her money in the not amused stakes he wound up with, "I assume we are concluding that the cash was a payment for services rendered."

Harry, having recovered somewhat, concurred, "Correct, Ilya and charity do not go hand in glove. Ilya and self interest do. But…do we have any evidence beyond assumption of that….Malcolm?"

Although Harry and needy normally went together about as well as hell fire and ice cream his tone held an inescapable hint of pleading. The question may have been directed at Malcolm but the answer arrived the depths of the sofa, from where Alec had resumed his supine pose.

"Nothing Malcolm tells me leaves a proveable trail, but this is where I came in…and out of several places shadowing our friend. In fact", he continued insouciantly with a grin, "it's fortunate that I retained a set of pick locks as a souvenir of my time in the service."

"And equally fortunate that the shock of Malcolm's revelations has rendered me temporarily deaf." Harry countered with an appreciative twinkle that matched Alec's, "so what did your new found career as a housebreaker vouchsafe."

"Who said it was a new career?" Encountering Harry's eyes Alec swung his feet onto the floor and became serious, "Okay okay, I've spent the last fortnight shadowing our friend using good old fashioned spycraft. Most of his life is as routine as you'd expect, work, drinkies in Commons bar with his influential playmates, the odd posho party - I make a lovely waiter by the way – two sessions gambling at Touchstones…"

"Where he increased his debts," The disapproval was flowing freely from Malcolm of the Methodist background.

Alec continued as if he hadn't heard, "Most nights spent as his fiance's, the lovely and misnamed Chastity. While they were bonking their brains out I took the opportunity to have a little look around Giles' flat. I must say very nice, turkey rugs, expensive art work, water bed…"

"Yes, yes, so what …." Harry was becoming impatient.

"Nothing that I considered unusual other than a safe deposit key, but then the family is loaded and probably don't declare everything. Then last week we had an interesting diversion from his usual routine. He vanished into _'Halldene's'_ jeweller to aristocracy and assorted fat cats including Russian oligarchs. My first thought of course was that he was picking up a trinket for the fiancé, possibly a thank you for a good time last night, but when he came out a few minutes later he glanced at a man who was loitering nearby and gave him a nod. The guy he'd nodded to then went in and emerged again after few minutes stuffing what looked like a set of papers in his inner pocket."

Harry the professional was appalled, "What dreadful tradecraft."

Alec, whose face suggested he agreed with Harry's skills assessment of the assumed opposition, pointed out a fact that Harry had missed, "Lucky for us though. Remember they had no reason to think they were being watched."

Seeing that Harry had subsided Alec quickly seized the moment, "I took a chance and followed the guy back to his flat. Nothing fancy, middling, respectable enough to avoid regular visits from the police due to a lowish crime rate, not expensive enough to attract attention." Alec paused in his narrative to take a mouthful of beer, with his mouth thoroughly lubricated he continued, "This is where the pick lock had its second outing in a week. I sat down nearby quietly reading my newspaper – trying to find a positive headline in the Daily Mail - and when our mystery man set out again I went for a little look round. All very bland but luckily I just happened upon a key to a safe deposit box, found his passport, and booking for a return trip to Moscow next week and what seemed to me to be an instruction sheet that he'd been referring to, and then left very carelessly lying around. So I photographed them and sent the snaps to Malcolm, along with the address to see what he could make of them."

Harry twisted his head around, "Well…"

Malcolm confirmed that despite their temperamental differences he and Alec were able to collaborate effectively, "Much as Alec says, he is due to return to Russia next week, the instruction sheet is interesting though, it is a list of names that suggests that he is being replaced almost immediately by another operative. It looks as if the individuals get only about six weeks at a time in London."

That was tradecraft Harry could approve of. "Makes sense, London has got to be more comfortable than Mother Russia, Ilya is probably trying to avoid someone going native. Anything else?"

"Only a brief note, basically advising him to contact Giles via the usual dead drops. It suggests why we found no etrail."

Harry pondered this statement before asking, "Hmm could the dead drop be the safe deposit?"

In line with his own tradecraft rules, if it wasn't an ascertainable fact Malcolm was reluctant to commit, "Possibly."

Switching back into Grid mode Harry summed up. "So it would seem that ultimately Giles is in debt to Ilya Gavrik, who has sent agents on a regular swap and who are communicating with him and obtaining information via a dead drop which is probably a safe deposit box."

Malcolm and Alec both nodded. Harry thought for a moment and then asked, "Malcolm have you the dates when Giles cleared his debts." Malcom didn't reply but twisted the screen to Harry's eyes. Harry having taken in the sight didn't react verbally but his face began to flush with a barely suppressed rage before he looked at the pair. Taking a deep breath that implied he'd reached some sort of decision he spoke in the clipped tone that was his default voice in briefings.

"Very well, the reason I was late tonight. It goes beyond your clearance Malcom, and Alec you don't have one."

"And you presumably trust us, so tell." Alec, of course.

"The DG called us all together, as you probably know the Government is on a continual course of channelling their inner Oscar Wilde…."

"We know all about rights for woofers thanks." Harry reflected that perhaps it was as well that Alec had been exited from the service while the PC virus was still in its incubation stage. In today's caring sharing service he'd have been permanently banged up in the HR department, being force fed Powerpoints on inclusive language and equal rights for all, including terrorists. Harry's own private view of these educational proceedings, which he wasn't sharing in a spirit of reciprocation and economy, was that a staple gun applied as required to the lips of erring staff would be achieve the same end more cheaply and efficiently. A solution that would offer up the cost effective result of freeing staff time, thus improving their opportunities to courteously invite terrorists for a friendly discussion on these same issues in a suitably hospitable venue, preferably the charmingly decorated basement holding cells of Thames House. Meanwhile Malcolm more attuned to Harry's sarcasm and having received the relevant training intervened, "I think Harry meant something about the value of nothing."

"Thank you Malcom. Exactly. Anyway although various industries are being sold off, due to certain sensitivities it's not considered advisable to let some of them fall into certain hands. The problem being it has to be an open bidding –so…"

"What a surprise it's fixed!" Alec's tone of mock shock deceived no one.

Harry wasn't even going to attempt to dissemble. "More or less – the preferred bidder get extra information to ensure they win, but recently at the very last minute in two cases other bidders who weren't privy to that information have put in a capping bid, gazumping if you like."

"Or as the powers that be don't like."

"Again exactly and the bid had to be accepted. The question we are all being asked to investigate is how they acquired the extra information which has clearly been leaked. The first one was a contracting out bid to build and run high security prisons to house those who'd committed cyber crime and fraud – it's a new unpublicised initiative to try and harness the prisoner's expertise in the national interest by pampering them.

Alec was moved to protest, "Since when did getting our enemies to piss outside instead of inside count as a new initiative?"

Harry ignored this comment, which rather matched his own view when he'd been informed of that particular scheme, as he finished imparting his secrets, "The second was a defence contract, and the information relating to that can only have come from within the Service."

Neither Malcom nor Alex needed further comment, even if Malcom did feel the need to clarify,

"So you think Giles might be the leak?"

"Well the dates just about match but…"

Malcolm saw a flaw in this reasoning, "But this is circumstantial and the first one was not passed through the service so the question is how?"

Harry, as ever, had an answer, "It would be typical of Ilya to have a network of assets for industrial espionage, but with contracts for nuclear power and even our technology systems shortly to be up for grabs, they will go to both Six and Five for the hidden agenda to be added. For obvious reasons they have to be won by acceptable companies which means…"

Alec had caught the general drift, "Whoever they can fiddle…."

"I think the correct phrase is 'preferred provider'."

"How about, 'preferred party donor'?"

Harry's lips almost quirked, Alec was one of the few people who could outdo him in cynicism when it came to dealing with politicians and their interfering ways. He'd occasionally wondered if it was that trait, as much as the alcohol that had led to Alec's ignominious departure from the service. It was a thought that had more than once kept the whisky imbibing Harry on the east side of sobriety. Not wanting to drift into what was essentially a side issue he merely commented. "I'm not arguing that one, but before the next contracts come on stream we need to prove Giles is either innocent given what we suspect, or guilty, for which we need proof positive."

Silence fell broken again by Alec who, after gulping a further mouthful of ale and pulling on his past existence in Internal Investigations had a query. "I can buy that Giles is a suspect in handing over the secret information but Malcom is right, how do they know this contract is coming up and that it is fixed?"

Harry's reply to this caveat was instant. "Firstly the fact that the contracts are coming up is made public. Ilya is not a man to assume all details are revealed. The outline of these contracts is dealt with by a separate department in the Civil Service who push out the extra hidden requirements to the appropriate services."

Alec was still protesting. "But if Ilya has a mole there why use Giles?"

Malcolm interjected, "This is a guess and I'd have to do some further checks but possibly a hack? He'd still want confirmation from another source."

Harry sighed – "Yes possibly, especially given the disaster that outsourced IT projects has become. Ilya doesn't leave anything to chance but most of this information was 'eyes only' and paper only, not held on the server. I asked that at the meeting."

"Dear God – Harry has Malcolm finally turned you into a techie?"

Harry and Malcolm both ignored this comment for different reasons. Malcolm because he was used to such disparaging comments, sensibly regarding them as a form of compliment, and Harry because he had concerns beyond responding to Alec's dubious witticisms.

Harry subsided into thought while Malcolm played with the laptop and Alec, having put off his date for the evening, resisted the temptation to play with himself. After about ten minutes Harry spoke, "Are we agreed that even if others are involved Giles is probably up to his elegant elbows in shit and we need to find proof positive since at present the current evidence is all circumstantial and given his contacts we therefore have no chance of being taken seriously without it."

"It's taken you ten minutes to come up with that!" Alec was scathing.

"No what I've come up with is this – I think it covers all bases, it might even allow us to take down Ilya's entire network, assuming that one exists beyond just Giles, but I need your opinion and your co-operation."

"I take the opinion that that means you'll go ahead anyway" Alec again, "Okay shoot – not literally."

"Very well my suggestion is…"

Five minutes later both Malcolm and Alec, for once in perfect harmony, had suddenly developed a pallor that would have made Snow White seem dusky by comparison. It was Alec who found his voice first, "Er you are serious….I mean…"

With Alec inarticulate Malcolm pitched in, "Have you thought about the security risks if he is corrupt?"

"As I was explaining if the DG agrees that is minimal but are you willing to help Malcolm as I'll need you to act as my Grid eyes and ears?" Seeing Alec smirk Harry added, "And I'll need your help in various ways yet to be decided."

Staring the pair down, after allowing them about thirty seconds thinking time he asked, "So are you in?"

While Malcolm nodded reluctantly Alec was more vocal. Taking a celebratory swig of his last mouthful of beer and wiping his mouth he expressed his opinion.

"It's bonkers, it will probably go tits up but Harry it's so mad and fucking brilliant it's irresistible."

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 _ **After I wrote this I saw a news article stating that the government was planning to make bidding for public service contracts more open! With what I have planned for later chapters I'm wondering if I have obtained an invisible crystal ball.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading. If you have a moment a review would be appreciated**_


	4. Chapter 4: From Russia without Love

_**Many thanks to those who read the last chapter and extra thanks to those who reviewed. The delay in posting is due to that plague known as real life.**_

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 **This will last out a night in Russia**

 **When Nights are longest there (Act 2 Scene 1 Line 144)**

As the plane taxied its way along the landing strip Serge, his face decorated with a self satisfied smile, relaxed back into his seat. He'd arrived, he was about to disembark into the maw of Heathrow, and he could hardly wait. Not only had he made it, if you paid attention to the various envious whispers floating in his homeland ether, for the next few weeks he had it made. He might have been dispatched to London to work, but as every employee knew there was work, and there was work. Even in hush hush world he inhabited word got around, and those words stated categorically that this particular gig in the enemy capital was almost literally a cushy number. Six weeks in a comfortably appointed flat, charged with the single task of maintaining contact with the asset. Of this latter individual he'd been advised rather, contemptuously by his own handler, ' _the idiot is under the impression that the information he gives us helps the British economy by giving the government a good deal',_ a statement that had concluded with an emphatically spat instruction to, ' _keep it that way'_. Serge had been momentarily tempted to enquire as to the light in which the asset viewed the not insubstantial sums he'd accepted for services rendered, but reluctant to antagonise his own organisation with questions that probably didn't come under the heading of ' _need to know'_ he'd held his tongue. In the absence of any intimation to the contrary it seemed a reasonable assumption that the asset, like most of the European upper echelons, considered his under the radar remuneration to be a retainer for advice given, much on a par with the special adviser appointments accepted by his politician chums. Serge was not a deep thinker, obeying questionable orders without question was more his forte, but it struck him that London was not so very unlike Moscow in terms of established political practice, although with more extreme activities legally hamstrung by a requirement to observe human rights, and subject to the scrutiny of an infinitely less muzzled press and broadcasting establishment. The latter gifted with a licence to publish publicly aired and disrespectful criticisms that would simply not be allowed by Serge's political masters.

Landed, through passport control, always a slightly heart thumping procedure when travelling with falsified documentation – luggage collected and enjoying the luxury of a taxi ride to the flat that would be his base for the next few weeks - Serge pondered once more the upon gullibility of the British as he anticipated a comparatively undemanding stay. With no real work beyond servicing the requirements of the occasional dead drop in the civilised surroundings of a safety deposit box and the need to send the odd coded message to the asset if so requested, he was practically on holiday. While his driver glided efficiently through the streets, he was debating how best to spend his anticipated leisure time. As his first priority he thought he'd indulge in a little sightseeing, take a river trip, see Westminster, the Tower (he was willing to bet its history was considerably less bloody than that of the Kremlin) and of course that tourist must, the London Eye. Later if circumstances allowed, he might even consider visiting Greenwich, the world renowned Kew Gardens, Hampton Court, Kensington Palace... it seemed a shame not to take advantage of what was probably a once in a lifetime opportunity. His sole regret being that despite the minimal work load his wife and young daughter had not been allowed to accompany him. They knew nothing of his real job of course, they thought he worked as a recruitment officer for Ilya Gavrik's multiple enterprises, which given the nature of his task was not an entire lie, and he was confident that he could have organised sufficient secrecy to ensure that they remained oblivious to his real job description. He had hinted at the possibility of visiting as a family on the excuse that it would provide an enhanced cover, only to receive the uncompromising response that the flat was only suitable for single persons. Deep down in his guts he knew that the real reason for the refusal was that his much loved womenfolk were being held as unknowing hostages to his not being turned. History was not on his side here, several years previously an English operative by the name of Harry Pearce had managed to infiltrate KGB operations to disastrous effect. The full facts had never been broadcast but rumour had it that Pearce, more or less living up to his surname, had seduced Ilya's ballerina girlfriend who had subsequently passed on secrets that had, once revealed, virtually disabled the Russian network in England. The fate of the girlfriend was inexact, few believing that she had actually committed suicide. What had lingered in the toxic afterlife of that calamitous affair was the unspoken, but well known fact that Ilya Gavrik's festering hatred of Harry Pearce had gradually expanded into an almost obsessive desire to shaft the entire country. When recent developments had presented Gavrik with a gold plated opportunity for revenge he had battened onto the asset with all the alacrity of a vampire sensing blood and conned the MI6 twerp into turning traitor, without even being aware of the fact. Small wonder then that Ilya was a legend you crossed at your peril.

Head full of plans Serge paid off the taxi, cautiously watching it drive out of sight before extracting from the depths of his heavy woollen coat the keys entrusted to him, a vital part of his Moscow departure pack. Hauling himself and his luggage into the lift and pressing the button for floor three of the block he decided that his first act, as a homage to the country he was domiciled in for the next few weeks, would be to make himself a nice cup of tea, raiding the supplies he'd been assured had been left behind in readiness for the next occupant. The flat he'd been told was at the opposite end of the walkway to the lift. As he emerged dragging his suitcase behind him he thought he saw a flicker of movement in the direction of the fire escape that was positioned just beyond the sought for front door. Hesitating for a couple of seconds to assess the position he heard nothing, saw nothing, and concluded that he was suffering from tiredness and the spook tendency to see the sinister in the every day. If he had glimpsed anything live moving it was most probably a roaming cat hunting for a convenient cat flap. His familiarisation instructions had included a reference to the possession of pets and a love of animals being a very English thing, a viewpoint confirmed by his having noted a couple of dogs and several cats wandering in the vicinity of the ground floor. Even with this knowledge he approached his destination casting a final searching glance around before depositing his suitcase and laptop bag by his feet. Inserting the key into the lock he pushed open the front door of the flat, greeted by the slight whiff of mustiness that always accompanied a property deserted for a few days. Stepping across the threshold with all the eagerness of a new bride, and turning to pick up his case, he barely had a moment to register the slight rustle of stealthy footsteps before he was firmly struck across the head. Temporarily stunned he was in no position, literally as he lay sprawled on the laminate flooring, to resist the strong hands that first grasped him and then dragged him further inside, or to fight the smell and effects of the chloroform that was swiftly and skilfully administered courtesy of a cloth pressed across his face.

* * *

He came too, experiencing an immediate sense of alarm due to being unable to see anything until, as his senses caught up and synchronised, he realised that his head was encased within a cloth bag, thankfully free of chloroform. Unable to discern anything definite he also registered that he was sitting upright in some type of moving vehicle and had been considerately strapped in with a seat belt. Less welcome were the mild restraints to his arms and legs, supple enough to avoid painful digging into his flesh, firm enough to give him little wriggle room. Not that he wanted it at present, the after effects of the chloroform and motion of the car, or whatever form of transport he was trapped in, were making him nauseous. For a second he considered with relish the prospect of throwing up over his captors, but decided that now was not the time to annoy them. The absence of any pain, other than the legacy throb of his skull, he took to be a good sign. Without sight it was difficult to be certain but it seemed to him that he was seated in solitary splendour at the back of the vehicle and, from the roughness of the seat covering, a form of heavy duty transport had been pressed into service. From the low but indistinct conversation he could hear taking place from somewhere in front of him his captors numbered at least two individuals. From the care they'd taken to avoid subjecting him to any further damage they apparently didn't intend to kill him – or – quick contraction of the stomach here – kill him immediately. They, whoever they were, were clearly professionals, of what sort he really didn't want to speculate.

Further thoughts were halted as the vehicle suddenly made a sharp turn and then, judging by the vibrations that rocketed up his spine, the current smooth even road surface was replaced by something pitted , which when combined with an increasingly steady rise in jarring bumps implied that they had reached some country and deserted destination – not good news and sufficiently alarming to send his earlier optimism at being still alive plummeting. Perhaps the brief was to deliver him in one piece so some sadistic bastard could have fun from start to finish. No doubt he would find out, but he couldn't honestly say, in answer to any enquiry on the subject, that he was anxious for enlightenment. He had a lurking suspicion that the questions he really would be asked were going to be far harder to answer truthfully, which was a shame since after forty odd years or so he'd become rather attached to his genitals.

As the motor switched off and they halted he tried to damp down his rising sense of panic via the mental displacement activity of a concentrated clinical assessment as to what was happening. The sound of the door opening and the slight up rise of the vehicle accompanied by the echo of a pair of boots crunching across gravel informed him that one individual had exited. The sudden rush of cool air, laden with the slight fragrance of damp earth, confirmed his view that he was no longer in an urban environment. That figured; if torture was on the cards out here, in the wilds, no one would hear the screaming. That unbidden and not to be discarded thought was succeeded by an equally gruesome proposition, one that occurred naturally to someone associated with the FSB, had he been brought here to be shot! Ears straining to pick out any syllable from murmured exchange that was taking place a tantalising few feet away, told him nothing. The sound of the boots returned and for the first time since he regained consciousness someone spoke to him issuing a firm, borderline harsh, order.

"Do as we say and you'll not be hurt. Understand."

Serge aware of a wash of relief, but not inclined to offer more than minimal co-operation provided a monosyllabic response, "Yes."

"Good. I'm going to unfasten your seatbelt. The sack stays on your head so I'll help you to get out. When you are outside stand still and we'll unfasten the ankle restraints. Two of us will guide you indoors. You just need to put one foot in front of another."

The sensation of hands grasping his body and slowly edging him out into what was the great unknown felt peculiar. Under certain circumstances it could almost have been erotic although Serge was currently sending up heartfelt thanks that seemingly buggery wasn't on the agenda, as opposed to being just buggered about. Standing upright in the cool all he could divine was that judging by the temperature it was early evening. Since it was also clear that he was about to be incarcerated inside he also seized the opportunity to inhale some lungfuls of the fresh air, the increasingly strong heady scent of animal shit that was tickling his nostrils implying that he was now in a farmyard. While he was attempting to make sense of the place he found himself in, while minus his sight, another sense was all too conscious of someone fiddling around the area of his ankles, experiencing, if the muttered curses where anything to judge by, some difficulty in unfastening the bonds. Whatever the problems encountered they were of a temporary nature since he was suddenly aware that something had snapped. Giving an unauthorised experimental slight adjsutment of his lower leg he realised that one part of his body had been released. To compensate for this limited freedom his torso became even more closely confined as a hand clutched either elbow and he was aware of a pair of bodies, one on each side, brushing against him.

The voice he recognised from the previous instruction resounded again in his ear. "On the count of three we are going to start moving forward. Follow my instructions exactly and you'll be safe."

Safe! Was he having a laugh? Serge was currently standing somewhere in England, blindfolded and handcuffed while being paraded by by two unknown assailants. Could this be a manifestation of the irony he'd been advised formed a large part of the British sense of humour! The time for debate was not now, not with the pressure on his elbows inexorably forcing him to move forward, gradually swapping the gravelled area they'd alighted onto for what his feet suggested were uneven flagstones. After about ten steps the two mystery men squeezed even further into his side as he very nearly tripped over a ledge, a fall only being averted by the grip they maintained. Moving forward for two more steps he became aware that a door was shutting and the sound of birdsong had ceased. He was indoors.

At long last the bag was removed from his head. Once he'd stopped blinking, even in the relative gloom his eyes need to adjust to light, he looked curiously at his surroundings. Nothing much of note accosted his newly liberated retina. All he could discern was that he was standing at the entrance to a long narrow passageway boasting a number of doors painted with dull green, chocolate brown skirting boards and grubby cream walls, all illuminated by a single low wattage bulb encased in an ancient yellowing lampshade of cracked plastic. Although the doors on either side were firmly shut, depriving him of any further clues, their size combined with the overall ambience, implied that his assumption that he'd been brought to a farmhouse for purposes unknown was correct. Tilting his head upwards by a couple of degrees to glimpse his captors made him little the wiser, both were dressed head to toe in unrelieved black, with heavy boots and the inevitable face concealing black balaclavas, a uniform that merely served to confirm was his initial view that they were professionals. Behind the two men he sensed, rather than saw, another figure swinging the wooden entrance door shut with a firm clunk. One of the two men holding him seemed to be addressing this person, "Down, and second on the left you said."

"Correct. I've prepared it as requested." While the pitch of the voice indicated that unknown number three was a woman this knowledge did nothing whatsoever to cheer Serge up. The precise clipped tone with which those few words were delivered was far from comforting. Whatever the language used Serge recognised a ball breaker when he heard one. Any momentary illusion that he was being confined by a representative of the sisterhood of the English Rose had just died its death, this member of the fairer sex, from the sound of it, would be more than a match for those renowned examples of ultra femininity, the female Russian shot putters. As for the content of her words; what preparation? All his previous dread came rushing back as he was steered towards a stair case and bundled downwards into what seemed to be a commodious basement, sinisterly divided into a large number of iron cages, none of which he noted were occupied. To his partial relief he was hurried past them and then at the far end of the area almost pushed through a door that was slightly ajar. Entering it he realised he had been thrust into a cell. A cell with a further door behind which lay what? Based on his theoretical knowledge of Russian interrogation chambers, he'd actually never worked in that branch of the service KGB/FSB service, he just knew that it would be concealing instruments of torture. Panicking, for a mad moment he considered trying to make a break for it, being shot would be much less painful or protracted, but almost as if he been second guessed the taller of the two men, the only one who'd spoken so far said,

"Don't think about it." Followed by the very definite admonishment, "And don't be ungrateful we've been told to make you as comfortable as possible."

Following this order, disguised as advice, Serge took a more thorough assessment of the room. To his surprise he now noted a bed that was furnished, not with the institutional blanket and rock solid pillow he'd have expected at best, but a large duvet and two inviting plumped pillows, a selection of puzzle books and a small table on which stood a flask and what appeared to be a warm meal. Before he could say anything he was informed,

"I need your belt and shoe laces." Serge hastened to comply while shivering slightly as his feet, clad only in thin socks, hit the cold unforgiving grey concrete of the floor. Silently the other member of the duo held out to him a pair of thick hiking socks which Serge grasped in silent and confused gratitude. Awaiting further explanation the next words held disappointment, but at least dispelled some of his earlier dreads.

"I suggest you eat and try to get some sleep. We will need to talk to you later. As long as you don't try anything to escape, or be a nuisance you will be safe. Try anything and you'll find yourself in one of those cages we passed." Possibly aware of his own pressing needs in that area the voice added, "You'll find a toilet and shower in there,' pointing to the concealed area as he did so.

With that the two men in black departed, the heavy iron door clanging followed by the noise of a bolt hitting home. Left alone with his jostling thoughts Serge sank onto the bed and considered his best move. So far, if not good, at least he was alive, and in prison terms a flushing toilet and a meal counted as pampering. Food and hygiene – they wanted to keep him alive and healthy, but why? And what should he do? Hungry, tired and locked in, it was a no brainer, he'd take the proffered advice and eat.

* * *

Upstairs, in a sitting room that, although furnished with comfortable squishy chairs of ancient appearance and worn material, conspicuously lacked the designer magazine depiction of a farmhouse idyll, Connie was presiding over a large brown teapot from which she produced a strong brew of tea. Handing Alec a cup she firmly informed him, "Harry said no alcohol on the job." Alec, not exactly thrilled by this news, thought it best to hide his horror at the idea of dry month. Taking what was on offer with a semblance of gratitude he sank into the sofa,

"And we always do what Harry wants?" Encountering a stern look from Connie that made it manifest that she was neither fooled by his apparent docility nor prepared to defy their off the record boss he added, "He gives me work, so what's your excuse? Come to think of it why are you hiding out here caretaking an ancient facility, when you were the best in the business?"

The steely glare that a gorgon would have envied made him wish he hadn't asked, "Much the same as you. I came under suspicion of being a loose cannon, in your case drink, mine… I was involved in a black op which involved handing over genuine Intel to trap a double agent, and ended up being branded one myself." A reply that only tickled Alec's curiosity further, "So why help the service?"

"I'm not – I'm helping Harry. He managed to clear me by some means. I've never found out what, but it involved Elena Gavrik. He then persuaded the authorities to give me my pension and a small salary to guard this facility."

Alec gave a sardonic sigh, "Ever get the feeling we're part of Harry's own private army?"

Connie snapped back, "Frequently, Especially when it's one of my sleepers in Russia that he's using, quite possibly right at this minute." Seeing Alec had finished his tea she informed him briskly, "I'll show you the room I've set aside for you during your stay – about a month to six weeks I think Harry said."

"Yes, which means I suppose we'll have to buy old Serge a few vitamin D tablets. I'm not risking taking him outside without Tom. Speaking of which, where….." Alec didn't have to finish his question as Tom, almost on cue appeared in the doorway, carrying a suitcase which he thrust at Alec, "Here."

Without waiting for an invitation he flopped onto the chair opposite Connie and informed them both without preamble, "Harry's going to contact Malcolm with the information we retrieved from Serge's phone when we lifted him as well as the laptop. He says Malcolm will send it on to you Connie. Rather than encrypt it which would look suspicious he said it'll be in the agreed code."

Alec frowned, "Surely that's a bit risky."

Connie enlightened his ignorance, with a patronising inflection that was borderline irritating to a man who'd been working all day and was now being denied the solace of hop brewed liquids for the duration, "Not really Alec. Harry and Malcolm have a habit of contacting me for an olden days catch up so if anyone picks it up with the story Harry plans to put about it'll just look like an update. However that will have to wait until Monday."

Wonderful: a gap of forty eight hours during which they had to keep Serge entertained. "Don't tell me, in the meantime we improvise to see if Serge can pass anything on."

Tom having failed to deny this assertion gulped down his tea before heading for the door, "Sorry, but I have to be off or my deep cover will be blown. Currently I'm supposed to be hunting down a possible leak."

Hiding his concern Alec made an imitation grumble, "Great, you get the excitement and I get stuck delivering his Y fronts to Serge. I suppose you're taking the van."

"'Fraid so –if you want to get away you'll have to nick Connie's car or her tractor."

With that he was gone. As the sound of the van revving up reached their ears Connie and Alec were staring at each other like a couple on the verge of divorce. It was, they mutually decided, going to be a long month.

* * *

Despite, or possibly because of the events of the day, Serge, once he'd finished the meal left for him, had dropped off into a deep sleep. He had only been awake for about ten minutes, his watch having been left on his wrist, when he became aware of footsteps approaching and the sound of the bolt being drawn; the precursor to one of the balaclava men appearing in his cell. The hooded eyes seen through the balaclava flicked around the space taking in the empty plate and flask dumped on the table, minus the top which lay nearby. Having sprung to his feet as his jailer entered Serge waited to see what was about to happen, only partly reassured by the sight of his own suitcase being carried by his jailer. Dumping the case on the floor the stranger unceremoniously nodded, pulled up the chair beside the table, indicated the bed and uttered a single word order, "Sit."

Once obeyed he said, "Very well Serge."

Although certain his legend was useless it was the time to check, Russia would expect it. "Excuse me my name is Andrei."

"Bollocks. That is your legend – Andrei Balovasky, spare parts salesmen for some widget company on a six week long sales trip based in London. You are in fact Serge Oblovosky, sent by Ilya Gavrik with the task of milking an asset in the employ of the British security services for sensitive commercial information that can be used for the benefit of Ilya Gavrik and the Russian state. You have a wife and a young daughter still in Russia. Your history is that of a former FSB officer now employed by Gavrik."

Put that way Serge was wondering why he was still alive – the secondary question being who was to blame for the cover being blown, or had he been set up….and, the killer issue for him, almost literally, was it worth trying to deny any of this?

Eyeing him Alec the former terror of internal investigations gave him time to process all of this before saying anything further. When Serge did summon up the power of speech it was to ask what Alec was prepared inwardly to accept as a fair question. "So who exactly are you?"

Fair question: yes or da. Willingness to answer it: no or nyet. "Who I am it is best you don't know, which is why I'm not removing this headgear. Equally it is important it us that you don't know where you are. Who I represent is different – I am currently working on an operation to trap the MI6 asset."

Feeling on stronger ground Serge managed to summon up a soupcon of scorn, "And if I am reported missing Mr Gavrik will know and the asset will be liquidated."

Alec was profoundly unimpressed, "Actually I suggested that as the best course of action, easier all round, but my boss prefers to unmask him, which is lucky for you."

Lucky! Serge looking around him wondered where luck came in, by now he should be enjoying London by night and the luxuries offered by a degenerate capitalist society instead occupying a better class of cell. He decided not to mention that, the cages he'd passed by on his journey to imprisonment didn't look half as comfortable as his current accommodation.

Alec had had a long day and unlike Serge no chance to nap so he decided to get down to the basics.

"What we need from you is confirmation of the pass codes, dead drops to be used and anything else we may need to trap this man. Please don't think for a minute that we haven't got most of this information or that we will hesitate to ensure that if anything goes wrong you receive the blame with consequences when you arrive home."

Serge was beginning to shudder at that prospect. Trapped here he might be, but this cell was the Hilton compared to what would await him if that latter threat was carried out. Alec noticing him visibly weakening pressed the advantage with an agreed bribe,

"If you cooperate we will allow you to remain with a legend, and we will extract your wife and daughter from Moscow. All we will need for that – apart from your cooperation, is some word, memory or anything that your wife will recognise as genuine."

Serge on the verge of capitulation managed to summon up a croak "When?"

"As soon as we know the operation is about to wrap up, one way or another. You will understand why we can't remove them before then in case it alarms your Moscow contacts, but we will watch out for them."

Serge nodded, "Very well but who exactly is in charge of this, I want to know who I am dealing with."

Then man in black unbent sufficiently to use the time honoured technique of answering a question with a question. "Ever heard of Harry Pearce?"

Oh God, he was stuck in the return bout between Gavrik and Pearce. If Gavrik won out he, Serge, would be thrown to the wolves in Russia, if Pearce, reputed to be equally ruthless, won he could never ever return to his homeland. Stuck with a dilemma that the Home Secretary would have recognised, Serge decided to take the time honoured line of least resistance, telling himself that his forthcoming betrayal was not cowardice but a necessity to ensure the safety of his wife and daughter.

"So can you repeat what you want to know?"

* * *

 **Thanks for reading. If you have a spare moment a review would be appreciated**.


	5. Chapter 5: Strangers on the Grid

**_Apologies for the length of time between chapters - I'll not repeat the usual excuses, let's just say that at least I'm not losing the plot on his story I hope._**

* * *

 **The demi-god authority (Act 1 Scene 2 Line 120)**

 _The Grid - Monday morning._

By eight forty five am frowns were being exchanged upon the Grid. The cause of the wrinkled foreheads: the glass walled office behind which Harry usually reigned in solitary majesty remained stubbornly unilluminated. Harry late for work was practically unheard of; the cynical suspecting that he in fact lived there, his home address being a mere embellishment to one of his several legends. Finally tired of the uncertainty Danny ventured to enquire of the most long standing member of staff,

"Was Harry called away Malcolm?"

Before Malcolm could answer Jed, having overhead this, proffered an alternative theory. "Perhaps he finally made it with the lovely bit of stuff on the main Reception desk." As heads sharply turned in his direction Jed while completely ignoring, or more probably not caring, that he was in mixed company continued to expound to his fellow spook, "Come on you must have noticed her Danny, red hair, gorgeous come to bed eyes, big bazookas."

The final part of that description being a push to far for an expostulating Zoe who angrily reasserted her apparently invisible presence, "Really Jed, as if Harry would …"

Jed remained solidly undeterred, "Come on Harry isn't a monk. He must get it sometimes and if he's shagging that looker no need to even complete an SF24."

Malcolm intervened in a reproving tone that made his distaste apparent, "Jed, you have female colleagues present who do not appreciate this type of conversation." Adding as a much needed reminder of the contents of the staff handbook that Jed plainly neglected to read, marked, learnt and inwardly digest. "Furthermore any officer engaged in a relationship with anyone of either higher or lower rank than that of their own does have to complete the form."

The sole response to that correction being for Jed to nudge Dann suggestively, almost cackling with an ill advised glee, "Hear that? You'll have no problems taking a crack at Zoe since you're on the same grade."

Jed, having squarely hit a sensitive chord, was risking a painful retribution from a very embarrassed and very angry Danny, whose grim expression implied that his tormentor might just find himself minus a certain pair of body parts. Fortunately for all concerned - Malcolm wasn't looking forward to fictionalising the Accident at Work log - balls were saved by the bell - or more exactly a sudden whoosh of the pods. A sound that was greeted by most of the company imitating Pavlov's dogs as they completed an involuntary turn, followed by an almost instantaneous dropping of jaws at the sight that emerged. Not, as might reasonably have been expected, of Harry's slightly rotund figure arriving to demand with his customary withering sarcasm as to why they were all standing around with fly catching mouths, instead they were treated to appearance of the DG accompanied by a stranger whom some vaguely recognised by sight, although those individuals who did so were struggling to recall his name. The only resemblance either of the visitors bore to Harry was to be observed in their immaculate Saville row tailoring although, after a more searching observation of the exquisitely clad anonymous stranger, no one could ever recall seeing Harry sporting a pastel pink tie.

The DG, once safely disgorged, proceeded majestically towards the centre of the Grid casting his eyes across the assembled staff as he did so. Feet firmly planted he declaimed, with all the toe curling false bonhomie so beloved of politicians, "Good, everyone all together." If Dolby's apparent air of authority was hiding a smidgeon of unease as he detected unmistakable vibes of dislike wafting in his direction by contrast his companion seemed infinitely more comfortable, surveying the assembled spooks with a self satisfied smirk that made Malcolm, normally the mildest and least uncombative of men, consider the attractions of violence. Judging by the expressions of those around him he wasn't the only one to have fallen into dislike at first sight, and that was despite the others being ignorant of certain facts that Malcolm alone was privy to.

The DG either oblivious, or, which amounted to much the same, was pretending to be, plunged on with his speech, "I'm sorry to inform you all that yesterday evening Harry was attacked outside his house and savagely beaten. He is alive, just, but has been hospitalized at a secure location." Before the questions could start he hurriedly continued, "We do not, at this time, know who the assailants were or their purpose in attacking Harry, but for his own sake it is best that his whereabouts remain a secret while this is investigated."

Detecting mummers of dissent that were preparing to convert into a roar of rebellion the DG held up his hand as he attempted to pacify mutiny in the ranks. "I know you all care for Harry." With a brief pause for breath, during which a semi hallucinating Malcolm could have sworn he saw a speech bubble arise bearing the words _"God knows why, because I don't_ ", the bubble pricking with the DG's next words, "But whoever attacked Harry will also be aware of that fact and may attempt to trace his whereabouts through you. They are clearly determined and dangerous and we can't risk them tracking any of you, whether field or desk officer. You are therefore completely forbidden on the pain of instant dismissal to try and locate Harry." In an attempt to soothe the savage breasts he concluded, "I can assure you Harry is being taken care of." A phrase that Malcolm considered less than judicious since, given the number of enemies Harry had made during his career, it was the a safe bet that numerous individuals cherished an ambition to do precisely that. He did however spare a thought for the DG, however unfortunate his slip it was fair to say that in Dolby's experience Harry was usually a harbinger of grief, no more so than at the moment.

While the team were still reeling from this announcement the DG proceeded to popularise himself further with the assembled personnel as he proceeded to the meat of the matter.

"Unfortunately given the likely length of Harry's recovery we need to appoint a temporary replacement. Tom Quinn would be the obvious choice but as you know he is currently working undercover and can't be pulled out. In his absence Zoe and Danny are sharing the post of Section Chief and as neither have a long experience it has been decided that Giles," – the name uttered being accompanied by a hand gesture in the direction of Mr Smirk, "who has considerable experience in MI6 will step into Harry's shoes as it were. I will expect you all to do your best to support him."

A statement that instantly called into Malcolm's mind the old saw of 'Happy is he…" as the fact of disappoint was made manifest when Danny mutinously spat out, "So why can't Malcolm take over, he's also experienced and knows the Section and…"

Before Danny could expand further upon what he, and judging by several disgruntled expressions, various other members of the not so happy throng regarded as an apparent injustice Richard Dolby interrupted the diatribe in the making, "Normally I would agree with you but just before Harry was attacked he'd approved Malcolm's nomination to a cross service committee which includes some of our sister services to discuss various forms of electronic co-operation. This was agreed on the basis that he combines linguist skills with being the most experienced and outstanding STO we can boast. That will inevitably involve extra work for him and sometimes require him to be away from the Grid." Having silenced the immediate objections and before any others could surface the DG added almost in confirmation of the position, "In fact if you don't mind Giles I'd like to borrow the Section Head's office for a few moments as I need to mention a few matters pertaining to this committee to Malcolm."

Leaving behind what promised to be a jolly party not, Malcolm tamely followed the DG into the goldfish bowl.

Once inside Dolby instantly located the cord that pulled the blinds shut, and with privacy assured dropped the cheery air that was replaced almost instantly by a worried, almost haggard mien that Malcom had no difficulty in attributing to the machinations of the absent Harry. He'd seen it too often before to be mistaken, it was the usual countenance worn by those who had been persuaded to a course of action that they disagreed with but could find no suitable alternative. Turning to Malcolm Dolby asked, "Are you really sure that Harry is right that, given the circumstances unearthed, while we attempt to discover cast iron evidence we aren't running a major risk with national security."

For once in his life Malcolm felt almost sorry for the DG, given that Dolby had articulated exactly his own reaction when Harry had outlined a scheme that on first hearing, second hearing and third hearing had sounded hair brained to anyone sane. However Harry was his boss as well as his friend, and in any case the DG however reluctantly had agreed to underwrite the plan, so choosing his words with even more than usual pickiness Malcolm quietly replied,

"I understand your concerns Sir but at present his actions are only suspicious in relation to concerns that are principally commercial, the longer term worry…"

Testily Dolby snapped back, "Yes I know commercial at present, but with what is in the pipe line commercial can, and will, impinge on national security, the last contract was risky enough…but have we any real evidence that…"

Malcolm felt like sighing, even if the dossier presented to the DG was dodgy, and it wasn't, it was too late now to backtrack. "Sir, what we have is very suspicious but if we attempt to take action without positive proof it is likely, given his contacts, he could avoid undue censure and that would leave him unassailable in the future." Seeing the DG was still not convinced, the man had plainly been overborne by Harry at his best, or worst depending on the point of view, Malcom added a further soupcon of comfort or discomfort, again depending on your point of view.

"Yesterday evening I discovered a further link to the earlier leak, again suspicious but not conclusive."

The DG starred hard at Malcolm for a moment, and as if satisfied that loyalty to Harry had not diluted his judgement nodded, "Very well. Now run me through the contact and tracking arrangements."

Finally Malcolm was on more secure ground, the one that was paved by his own expertise. "Hidden software to track the internal computer comms in the department from everyone, so no chance that the wrong person could be accused, listening device in this office all conversations being recorded and cached, plus a number of hidden cameras." Seeing Dolby looking a little alarmed he added reassuringly, "I've not yet activated anything yet – my first job after we finish our conversation." Almost as an afterthought Malcolm added, "I'll also be hacking Giles personal comms and he will be tracked, without knowing."

Dolby heaved the silent sigh of one who knew when he was defeated, "Very well, and your cover of course is this mythical working group."

"Whose existence is so secret it is hidden behind a firewall of intense complexity."

Other than an affirming nod indicating that the conversation was terminated Dolby resorted to silence as he pulled the blinds open. Both men looking out on the Grid reached the mutual wordless decision that asking how the 'getting to know you' session had gone would be superfluous. The body language said it all, if that this been an icebreaker then icebergs large enough to sink the Titanic were bobbing merrily in the atmosphere, the only discernible warmth being the flames of resentment shooting from several pairs of eyes, Danny's in particular. Only two people seemed impervious, Giles, whose air of self satisfaction resembled an oil slick impervious to puncture, and Jed, who seemed to be positively enjoying the discomfort of those who spent their life objecting to his jokey personality. Only the presence of Dolby prevented Malcolm from groaning aloud. Setting aside the forthcoming problems that Dolby had just voiced concern over, the most immediate one, of managing to conduct Grid operations smoothly with a team who had plainly taken their new, albeit temporary, boss in dislike was here, now, parked on the doorstep. Dolby must have sensed this himself as he led Malcom out of the office saying in an undertone. "Please keep me posted on all aspects of this operation Malcom."

Once Dolby. who stayed not upon his going, had been swallowed by the pods Malcolm was allowed no time to envy him his departure, or to silently curse Harry for the situation he had created, as Giles instantly instructed, "Very well everyone back to their work stations, except Malcolm whom I need to see in my office." His heavy emphasis on last two words producing a very rude gesture from Danny the instant Giles' back was turned.

Shaking his head at Danny before trekking back into holy of holies for the second time within less than fifteen minutes Malcolm wondered if he should just set up camp outside the door. Blinds drawn yet again to shut out the curious furious on the main Grid floor Giles lost no time in settling himself into the chair, leaning back with a properatioral air of content before stating in an arrogant tone, "I am aware that Harry frequently overrode protocols. I have just been making it clear to the team that those days are over. We now do everything by the book. I need to refresh my mind on certain matters so can you ensure that the relevant documentation is in place on my desk within the next half hour."

"Certainly er….." Malcolm, wasn't sure what salutation to give the interloper. He knew the several he'd prefer but being old fashioned despise the regular use of such terms and wasn't about to be goaded into breaking his own rules by the self important shit sitting in front of him.

"The correct term for the team to address me with is Sir. I don't approve of using first names in a work situation. It encourages familiarity which in turn leads to slackness." Point made he added in what he fondly imagined was a concessionary tone, "But was you are a longstanding Senior Officer and since I'm also informed that you are not an individual who oversteps the mark you may call me Giles."

Whatever Harry's faults no one could accuse him of patronising his staff, he'd frequently yell at them, command them, inform them but while preserving a decent distance he had also managed to pull off the trick of remaining one of them, a fellow officer. Giles seemed to have modelled his nascent leadership skills on those of the more remote CEOs who coined eye watering salaries while basking in total oblivion to the concerns of the shop floor. Consequently it was a very underwhelmed Malcolm who declined this kind invitation. "Thank you Sir, but I think I'd prefer to use the approved term."

"As you wish." Getting down to business briskly Giles announced his priority, "Now the first task in hand is to appoint an analyst which I understand from my introduction to the existing staff you lack."

Malcolm was able to reassure him there. "Actually Harry Pearce has appointed one. She is due in about now."

Giles snapped, "I'd prefer to appoint my own choice so you will inform her that her probationary contract is revoked."

Quite apart from his unwillingness to do Giles dirty work for him, undertaking Harry's was a little different, Malcolm managed to hide his pleasure at obstructing the martinet sitting in front of him. Harry wasn't the only one who could do the great stone face on occasions.

Taking a wicked delight in baulking Giles' very first operational decision Malcolm calmly informed him. "I can't do that Sir."

In a voice that could have peeled the blood red paint from the walls Giles almost snarled at his insubordinate subordinate, "Are you disobeying orders Malcolm?"

Malcolm easily was able to refute this accurate allegation, "Not at all. It's simply that Harry appointed her on a permanent contract. As it was signed a fortnight ago I doubt it can be revoked."

Giles handsome features were distorted by fury as he bawled. "But that is completely against normal practice. The contract must be cancelled."

Malcolm was struggling to repress the smirk he felt arising as he reminded the Section D pretender "As you yourself remarked Harry doesn't follow protocol. In this case I understand that GCHQ were so determined to retain her they insisted on a permanent contract thinking that he'd never agree."

Before Giles could express any further opinion on Harry's running of the section the sound of movements on the Grid, unseen through the drawn blinds, attracted the attention of both.

While Giles was remained seated, his lips pursed with displeasure at this failure to maintain the peace Malcolm with a quick 'Excuse me' took a couple of steps and with a minimal amount of flutter peeked through the blockading blinds onto the main floor.

Noticing a youngish woman, with dark hair, a long skirt and a face adorned by a confused expression standing talking an equally bemused Danny Malcolm realising what had happened informed Giles in a studiously neutral voice. "And here she is. Do you want to tell her that she's sacked before she's even taken up post?"

There was pause while Giles counted up to ten, calculated his chances of enforcing his will and then, with an air of palpable reluctance, instructed Malcolm.

"No. It is unlikely the contract can be terminated. I will rely on you to instruct her in her duties."

Dismissed, a relieved Malcom headed onto the Grid to mentally girding himself to untangle yet another complication created by Harry's master plan.

Approaching the new arrival he held out his hand as, hoping to atone for the present muddle, he greeted her warmly.

"Miss Evershed I assume. Welcome to Section D."

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 _ **Thanks for reading. If you have a moment review would be appreciated.**_


	6. Chapter 6: The Musing of Ruth

_**Hi, I've managed to post a little more quickly than usual. Many thanks to all who read and especially to those who reviewed the last chapter, it really is appreciated.**_

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 _ **Virtue is bold and goodness**_

 _ **never fearful (Act 3 Scene 1 Line 210)**_

Ruth Evershed was seriously wondering if she'd made the biggest mistake of her life. She'd never been one for risk taking, her adventuring gravitated towards the strictly celebral, which ironically was the very character trait that had finally pushed her into deserting the comfort zone that had been GCHQ.

In many respects her career in that institution had been very satisfactory, despite which, during the previous two years she'd found herself becoming restive. After applying her formidable professional skills to a di section of her personal life, Ruth's comprehensive analysis of the underlying reasons for her discontent had produced an unescapable conclusion. Namely that although she knew the work she undertook was valuable she increasingly had begun to feel that that she was doing it at a remove. She completed her given tasks; passed her conclusions through to the next level, and then what….? Her working life within the insulated doughnut was as circular as the building itself while she was endlessly yearning for the linear. As dataset succeeded dataset and day succeeded day, each and every one of them spent matching paper Intel to numerous chatter feds, she never discovered the end game, never had the complete intellectual satisfaction of seeing a job through to completion. Curiosity as to her ultimate effectiveness had begun to knaw, feeding into her feeling of restlessness. Finally when annual appraisal time had reared its usually useless head yet again instead of tamely nodding she'd tried to articulate her discontents, although in retrospect she had wondered if stating that her workplace contained ' _too many bloody mathematicians'_ had been tactless to the verge of foolhardiness. Experience had lead her not to expect much from the HR department's annual tick box exercise, other than to have her paperwork secretly appended with a note saying 'malcontent', but a couple of months later, to her very great surprise, her manager had been asked to approve her being seconded to Thames House, the counter terrorism department Section D being in desperate of a skilled analyst. Called in by her then superior he'd canvassed her views and after listening intently advised her, "I'm only willing to let you go if you are given a firm permanent contract from the start." Before she could protest at this unexpected obstacle he'd clarified his stance. "I don't want to lose you and in view of Harry Pearce's reputation for demoralising staff he considers inefficient I want to ensure that you have some job security within MI5. In fact in view of Harry Pearce's reputation in general I would advise you to consider very carefully before you agree to this move."

Despite these quelling thoughts Ruth had continued on her course, undeterred by either her boss's vocalised doubts or the whispered conversations in the women's toilet to the effect that Harry Pearce was some sort of rampant Romeo who frequently and indiscriminately jumped on all his female staff. Ruth had been an analyst for long enough to differentiate rumour from proven fact, and was also well aware that if Harry Pearce had routinely behaved in such an inappropriate manner he'd have been disciplined so frequently that dismissal would have been inevitable. It did though say something for the man's reputation that even in Cheltenham he was notorious. However she was secure in the certain knowledge that even if those rumours held a grain of truth it was not as if she bookish, unfashionable Ruth was attractive enough to have to worry about that particular hazard, and as it turned out she didn't have too. The Grid she'd been pitchforked was sans Harry Pearce, meaning that she'd fought down her disquiet for nothing. Besides which one apprising glance at the classically beautiful Zoe had been sufficient to convince Ruth that if her new boss was inclined to philander it wouldn't be in her direction that his allegedly lustful eye would wander.

Quite apart from the inevitable strains of starting a new job in a wholly unfamiliar workplace she was also hugging to herself an array of more immediate worries, ranging from summoning up the energy to distribute the contents of the packing cases scattered throughout the flat she'd managed to purchase with a legacy from the her long dead and beloved father, through to the issues surrounding her much less beloved and utterly needy step brother Peter. Her concerns were not just for Peter himself, but also for the impact of his latest stupidity on her mother and stepfather. After a fortnight or so post event they were still all stranded in limbo land awaiting the outcome of the inevitable investigation into Pete's misdemeanours. Drunk while on duty might sound minor, when the individual involved had been employed as member of the Royal Protection squad it instantly qualified as serious offence. Dumped not very gently by his girlfriend Angela Wells, who'd allegedly informed him that he was a pathetic article, Peter had decided to live down to the prophecy. Admittedly his actions hadn't exactly endangered HM Queen but excessive alcohol on an empty stomach subsequently combined with a healthy meal of salty crisps and peanuts had resulted in his voiding the contents of his stomach over Her Gracious Majesty's handmade shoes. For good measure the splatter effect had also caught her consort's trousers. Prince Philip had gone viral, as had Twitter. Behind the scenes Pete's projectile vomit was now forming the centrepiece of an internal enquiry in respect of security procedures. While they awaited a decision about charges to be brought, if any, Peter had been persuaded to return to London and was now ensconced, sober but snivelling, in his rented room, and Ruth, as if she wasn't stressed enough through moving house and job simultaneously, had been charged by their respective parents with a watching brief over the mentally fragile Pete.

With all this forming a mental hinterland Ruth could have well dispensed with her baptism of fire on the Grid. Emerging from the noisy tubes, which she now knew were called the pods, she'd been confronted by the sight of desks and flickering computer screens, both in the main unattended while the staff were standing around in small knots, heads huddled and tones hushed. Even the thickest skinned of individuals would have tuned into the waves of hostility lapping around, with the odd glare being directed towards what seemed to be a glass wall at one end of the Grid, although whatever lay beyond it was concealed by blinds. Standing centre stage being raked over by what felt like the one hundred eyes of Argos the hostility seemed to instantly dissolve into puzzlement as she managed to stammer uncertainly,

"Er…I'm Ruth Evershed."

Noting that the confusion was replaced by blank looks she found herself flushing horribly with embarrassment as she struggled against her nerves to explain her presence, "I'm the…." She was spared launching into further explanation when a cultured but quiet voice behind her interrupted her stuttering sentence, "Miss Evershed I assume. Welcome to Section D."

Turning on her heel so sharply she nearly overbalanced she discovered the speaker to be a middle aged man, with a plain but friendly face, regarding her with a combination of anxiety and apology. Offering her his hand he introduced himself.

"Malcolm Wynne Jones, Senior Technical Officer. I'm so sorry about this. My fault I'm afraid, I knew you were due to start today but we are somewhat disorganised." After drawing an embarrassed breath he gestured towards the two staff she'd already spoken to, "Allow me, Zoe Reynolds and Danny Hunter, Junior Field Officers currently sharing the role of Chief as Tom Quinn the permanent post holder is working undercover."

Although relieved that at least someone had anticipated her arrival her Ruth, while nodding in acknowledgment of these introductions was becoming increasing confused. Among the many warnings she'd received given the hazards of working in Section D was the statement, " _Harry Pearce runs a very tight ship_." If this was a tight ship in terms of sea worthiness it ranked alongside the rotting hulks used to imprison the convicts of yesteryear. Finally finding her voice she informed Malcolm, as the only person present who seemed to have his finger on a button, which was not the most comforting of analogies when standing in the heartland of the security services,

"I was told to report to Mr Pearce."

A statement that cued not an introduction to the fabled man himself, who, depending upon whichever informant you paid most heed to, was a dead ringer for either Casanova, Vlad the Impaler or Houdini, but a slight shuffling of the feet from Malcolm accompanied by telling glances from Zoe and Danny.

Although Ruth had addressed Malcolm it was Zoe who essayed a reply, "Well the…." Faltering to halt before Malcolm not quite took charge, "I'm sorry to inform you that Harry is currently absent and we have a temporary new head…"

"Let's hope he is temporary," Danny muttered in disgust, only to be contradicted by another voice.

"Oh I don't know, he seems okay and he can only be less bad tempered than Harry."

"Harry isn't really bad tempered, he just hates liars and fools." This from Danny, complete with challenging glare at Jed, who remained completely unabashed as he opened his mouth to reply.

It fell to Malcolm to intervene yet again stating with a quiet severity. "Jed I put some files on your desk for checking yesterday evening", before turning his back on the Grid pest with an unmistakable air of dismissal to smile at Ruth

"I'll explain, but if you'd like to step over here I'll show you to your desk."

Glad of the opportunity to escape into a corner Ruth was further alarmed to discover that her designated work station appeared to be slap bang in the centre of the Grid. No chance of hiding in plain sight here, although at least the blinds still seemed firmly drawn across the plate glass windows that appeared to form a wall.

Once seated as indicated Malcolm pulled up another chair and in a low voice outlined the current circumstances.

"I really must apologise again. Unfortunately Harry was seriously injured last night in an attack. As a result we now have a new Section Head who is currently reviewing the various ongoing operations, so he's asked me to induct you."

Never having met Harry Ruth's sympathy was instantly aroused, flavoured with a touch of alarm as she asked nervously, "Poor man …does this often happen to… I mean attacks on desk staff."

Malcolm instantly aware of the underlying worry tried to reply honestly, "No one is exempt but it's usually the field officers who are at most risk." This effort at soothing her worries being instantly interrupted by the dulcet tones of Jed floating into their eardrums. "You'll be okay Ruth, you've not been here long enough to make enemies whereas Harry has half the world gunning for him."

Encountering Malcolm's eye he thrust a file in front of him, "How do I get this document cross matched?"

"Go down to the Registry," a less punctilious individual that Malcolm would undoubtedly have added "And don't hurry back," although the rebuke and suggestion was implicit in the terseness of his voice.

Once Jed had whooshed through the pods, a sound Ruth assumed she'd finally cease to jump at in about a year's time, Malcolm returned to the more immediate matters. "Most of the software you will already be familiar with. These files and this list cover the regular duties and routines of the Senior analyst. As a member of the Senior team you will be required to attend most of the briefings headed by Harry." He pulled himself up, halted briefly and then continued, "…er…. the Section Head. Also you can expect to be red flashed in emergencies." He paused, "I assume that requirement was explained."

Ruth nodded, "Yes Mr Pearce in lieu of an interview sent me a very long memo."

Zoe who, for reasons yet to be divulged, had begun to hover murmured, "And you still turned up!" Malcolm regarding Zoe with rather more indulgence that he'd afforded Jed asked, "Did you need me Zoe?"

"Not really, but I was wondering, before Ruth starts trawling her way through that back log, if you'd like me to show her the location of the Ladies."

"Thank you Zoe, I think I've finished for now, so if you are agreeable Ruth…."

Seeing the sympathy in Zoe's eyes and feeling the need of more than one type of comfort break Ruth accepted with an alacrity, that she realised on reflection, as she accompanied Zoe out of the Grid proper, might have been deemed insulting to the very helpful Malcolm.

In fact far from being affronted Malcolm had felt relieved; Ruth's arrival had at least given the Grid staff a distraction from the question of what had happened to Harry. Also he was not relishing the role he'd been assigned as undercover Grid leader. Malcolm has always avoided the field, now it seemed that the field had come to him. With a sigh he settled down to the neglected pile on his own desk, content to hand Ruth over to gossip in the sole sanctuary that remained unbugged, the Ladies loo, not that Ruth had struck him as a great one for feminine chit chat even in if her clothing did verge on the mildly Bohemian.

Down in the Ladies Zoe, after initiating Ruth into the various quirks of the plumbing and advising her that the tampon dispenser was a tad temperamental when it came to accepting pound coins, had followed that up, as became a spook, by a scrutiny of every single cubicle before adding helpfully,

"We share this with other sections so before you say anything check and if anyone from another section is here keep your ears open and mouth shut. Harry's always happy to get Intel about what other sections are up to but will give gossiping staff from his own department short shrift…..it's why your predecessor was dismissed."

Ruth was beginning to feel increasingly daunted by what she'd heard about the absent Harry, to the point where she was seriously wondering if she wanted to meet him….ever. Thinking in bullet points, the analyst's habit, so far she'd learnt that he was,

a) A womaniser

b) Demoralised staff

c) Had an endless list of enemies

d) Didn't encourage normal social interaction

Something of this must have shown in her face as Zoe trying to comfort her smiled.

"Honestly Harry's not as black as some paint him. It's just he doesn't suffer fools gladly." Adding in a reflective tone tinged with contempt, "Which really makes you wonder why Jed's still with us."

Appreciating Zoe's efforts to ease her concerns Ruth nonetheless couldn't help but wonder what exactly Harry's definition of a fool might be. She had no time to consider further as another woman entered exclaiming to Zoe with a transparent eagerness, "I hear Harry is out action. You must be pleased, especially since Giles is such a dish."

The warmth that Zoe had exuded only thirty seconds ago vanished in an instant as she pokered up to reply, "Which dish did you have in mind, jellied eels or prawn salad?"

With that alienating comment delivered and a quick almost imperceptible nod Zoe lead Ruth out and back towards the Grid. Once clear of the immediate area Ruth commented, "I can understand why Mr Pearce doesn't like gossip."

Zoe sighed, "Harry almost certainly knows exactly what people say about him and I doubt he lets it bother him over much. Still I shouldn't have been so annoyed. It's just, you see, whatever Harry's faults he really does care about his staff and we know it." Making it clear that she was well au fait with the rumour tree Zoe continued, "You'll probably have heard he'll go to any lengths to get his own way and that is true, but in a good way and always in defence of his staff and country. Also he hands it out to all comers, including the JIC and DG. Most Section Heads are only concerned with saving their own butts and pensions."

And that, apart from being the first good report she'd heard of Harry the bogey man, was, Ruth considered quite a tribute. Retiring to her desk she spent the rest of the day locked in thought while completing her first task, the weekly risk assessment, interrupted only by Malcolm occasionally popping over to check her progress and to assure himself that all was well. Towards the end of the afternoon Danny Hunter finally approached her apologising for her rough treatment on arrival, "And please Ruth if you need to know anything at all ask myself, Malcolm or Zoe."

"What about the new Section Head?"

From Danny's expression it was plain he was also part of team Harry. In fact from what she'd culled from the odd half heard remarks that had drifted into her consciousness as she worked away it seemed fairly obvious that of the Grid staff only Jed was the only person not to be depressed by Harry's absence. It was an interesting counterbalance to the rumours she'd been fed for the last few weeks. She also gathered that the temporary replacement hadn't gone down well, not that she'd met him either. He'd spent the day immured behind the blinds shielding himself from the public gaze, understandably perhaps given the prevailing mood on the work floor. Given all the surrounding circumstances Ruth decided that until she'd managed to make a clear clinical assessment of the personal and professional undercurrents of the Grid her most logical course of action was to keep her head down and try to impress whosoever was her boss, the missing Harry or the invisible Giles, with the quality of her work.

Not being exactly sure of the end of day protocol she was once again grateful to Malcolm, who solicitously appeared at her elbow on the dot of five pm, smiling as he informed her,

"No emergency this evening so take the opportunity to leave at a reasonable hour. He then glanced at the pile of files she'd set aside and flagged as actioned by a forest of yellow post it notes before adding, "and with the amount you've cleared today I think you deserve an early finish."

Wanting to leave and collapse in her own private space where she could analyse the day she'd taken his advice and departed. So now as she sat among the packing cases Ruth was wondering what tomorrow would bring, and given the quicksands of Section D did she really want to know!

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 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a chance a review would be lovely.** _


	7. Chapter 7: Malcolm Reports

_**Thank you everyone who read and even greater thanks to those who reviewed. Having introduced Ruth I feel obliged to state that she does not feature in the next three chapters. Be assured she does become of greater importance as the story progresses.** _

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_**Craft against vice I must apply (Act 3 Sc1 line 533)**_

"And I felt really sorry for her, poor girl – not the best of days to arrive on the Grid." Thus quoth Malcolm, pausing to sip his coffee, as once again he sat at the table located in the safe house flat, the address that had apparently become the designated meeting place for those involved in the authorised black operation.

Opposite Malcolm, listening intently as the techie reported on the eventful day in Section D, sat a subtly altered Harry. Malcolm had taken a small gulp on first beholding his boss in disguise. His chin no longer clean shaven but covered by designer stubble that Harry was slowly growing into a beard, the hair that still clung to his scalp had been remained uncut for a couple of weeks, advance planning that was now producing visible results in the longer blond curls that, while framing the gradually balding dome, hinted at the wild untamed thatch of early youth. A pair of glasses with darkened lenses, currently lying on the table,were intended to provide additional concealment to the amber eyes, already converted into a shade of piercing green through the application of a pair of contact lenses. Add in casual clothes tailored in lighter hues than Harry Pearce was wont to wear and if the concealment fell short of a total alteration it certainly provided sufficient cover to ensure the Head of Section D would remain unrecognised by any passing glance from near strangers. That Harry would avoid the risk of close encounters with his real life acquaintances went without saying.

Harry's reaction to Malcom's concerns proved that not everything had changed. The outer habiliment might be altered but the bedrock character remained entrenched, "Well she'll have to get used to the unexpected if she wants to make the grade in Section D."

Stated with the brisk confidence that could have been adjudged as the underlying cause of the fictional attack previously cited as the reason for Harry's open ended absence from the Grid. The response was certainly unsympathic enough to make Malcolm, friend as he was, understand why certain persons of a violent disposition would give their right arm for a chance to rearrange Harry's face. Scratch that, make it the right leg, they'd need the arm for the task. Given the nature of this speculation Malcolm almost missed Harry's follow on question.

"So is she likely to make the grade workwise?"

"On the first day's showing", Malcolm the ever cautious began, "I'd say yes. She cleared about half of the back log." He knew the next question, borne from the Section's previous experiences with confident and utterly incompetent analysts, answering it before it was asked, "No she's not slapdash, the work was excellent and she made several positive links that I'd only guessed at."

A broad smile of approval spread across Harry's face, "So terrorists beware."

"Giles wanted her dismissed on the spot – not his choice."

Harry snorted, "If she's as good as you think …" as with a verbal affirmation of Malcolm's judgement he completed the sentence, "and I'm sure you are correct, he'll have no grounds for doing so."

Malcolm, who after all had had to deal with the man face to face, didn't look entirely convinced by this airy assertion. Since he, like Harry, was adept at maintaining a stony countenance when confronted with difficulties, his thoughts must on this occasion have been mildly apparent, leading Harry to enquire,

"Never mind Mr Rule Bound – more importantly how did the other staff take to her?"

That at least was a positive. "After the initial shock and awkwardness's fairly well, Zoe and Danny especially."

With the future to consider Harry expressed a considerable relief. "Fortunate as she'll be on the senior team, and your cover story?"

"More or less in place." Having given a succinct reply Malcolm then hesitated further, unsaid words trembling on his lips, leading Harry to peremptorily demand, "Well out with it. What's the problem?"

Remembering his first conversation with his now superior, whose immediate desires had been baulked by Harry's pre absence machinations, Malcolm enlightened his absentee boss. "Giles has already made it clear he wants his own people, and that no divergence from the accepted protocols will be allowed."

"And quite right too," Harry responded with a twinkle, "expect of course the ones he breaks himself… so…"

Malcolm heaved a sigh, "I honestly can't see the team not breaking the rules if it means offenders will escape capture, and do we want good officers decommissioned?"

Harry noting the real distress now stamped across Malcom's face, and aware that he felt as protective towards the younger staff as Harry himself, attempted to soothe him,

"Not really a problem Malcolm – to dismiss someone so formally takes an age and I'll have returned to the Grid before Giles can complete the process."

Malcolm was secretly wondering if Harry had been occupying his unaccustomed leisure by imbibing excessive amounts of the happy juice. How did you tactfully ask your boss that type of question? A conundrum he was spared by an unwelcome dinging of the doorbell. Harry, alarm sparking in those newly greened eyes, hissed urgently,

"Were you followed?"

Malcolm, while no field officer, pokered up with affront at this implied criticism, coming as it did at the end of a very trying day, "NO and I wasn't tracked either."

His indignation passed without comment, chiefly because Harry wasn't really listening. Instead with a swiftness that belied his bulk he silently moved towards the door, peeking through the discreetly fitted spy hole. His quick peep was followed by the sound of a key turning, and cool air being wafted in from the outside world, its inward passage carrying on its current Harry's warm and friendly greeting to the trespasser of their peace.

"What the Hell are you doing here Alec?"

Alec on being allowed entrance chose not to reply as he, in order of his own priorities, removed his coat, grabbed a beer, then flopped on the sofa before saying, "Hi Malcom."

Harry having locked the door following behind wasn't impressed, "And in answer….?"

Alec swallowing a refreshing mouthful of the three days forbidden alcohol turned his gaze, asking in mock confusion, "God, who is this stranger Malcolm?" Before Harry could combust he turned sensible, well sensible by Alec's personal standards. "I had to get away – it was either that or organise an unfortunate accident for Connie." Taking another gulp of his drink he added in amelioration, "Also I have some Intel."

"So Serge talked?"

"For about half an hour and then he began to get muzzy, concussion." Alec, rather unfairly pinning the blame onto the absent added, as a coda, "Tom doesn't know his own strength."

Before Harry could begin to consider how to dispose of a body, thankfully a not too difficult a task in the countryside littered as it was with woods, marshes and lakes, Alec reassured them, "Not to worry Connie has a tame medic to blackmail, he does the odd bit of drug dealing on the side." Having dispensed this relief Alec proceeded to disgorge his findings.

"It seems our friend Gavrik has tried to avoid any easily traced links. Serge was told that he would be contacted from Gavrik's headquarters as to what he needs to place in the dead drop which, as we suspected, is the safety deposit box. The intention seems to be to avoid any direct contact crossing between Serge and the asset, to which end a separate message to check the drop is sent to Giles via a member of staff planted in _Touchstones._ Most of the staff who work there are exactly what they seem to be, but two of the new management team are Gavrik's men. To assuage suspicions he's employed English comrades, neither of whom seem to have realised that Gavrik is in thrall to mammon rather than Marx." Noting that Malcolm was rapidly typing himself some notes Alec added helpfully, "Brian Grimble and Cassius Browne. That's Browne with an e on the end."

Harry had concerns beyond mere spelling pedantry. This chain of communication seemed a trifle casual and not quite what he'd expect from his long standing adversary, a man who'd triple lock his own tortoise in its hibernation box to prevent it escaping with clues as the brand of lettuce that graced the Gavrik luncheon table. "And if Giles doesn't visit, or needs to pass on a message to say he has some updated Intel?"

"Serge flaked out before we got to that part but I'd assume anything incoming would be sent by a coded courier message from _Touchstones_ suggesting he settles his bill, and anything Giles wishes to share is mentioned in a visit to _Touchstones_ and then passed, again probably by a coded message masquerading as a business query, to the Russian management."

Malcolm nodded solemnly, as a working theory it made excellent sense. "Then we probably need find the code book, and that means getting someone inside _Touchstones,_ and, given their level of security, a someone who can set up an undetectable hack." Leaving Harry and Alec to ponder that tricky issue Malcolm plunged onwards reminding the pair of the current state of play. "That first part confirms what we'd learnt from Serge's laptop in the flat." Pausing for a moment he turned to Harry, "No messages as yet."

"Only the expected coded response to the call sign that we activated on Sunday to confirm Serge's arrival." remembering that Alec hadn't been present when Malcolm had hacked the laptop - tutting about the low level of security implanted on it - Harry brought Alec up to date. "Between the written instructions in Serge's luggage and the information you'd obtained on your...er... visits Malcolm managed to work out the system from Serge's immediate end, it's confirmation of the wider picture that we lack." Taking a mouthful of his own now very cold coffee, Harry continued after a grimace, "Ilya required Serge to check in on arrival."

Alec smirked, "I assume you didn't mention that he was actually located in Connie's rest home for incautious spooks." Noting that answer came there none he continued with his news, which was proved to be a more than adequate justification for going AWOL from the aforementioned rest home.

"Tom managed to contact me. He's been chatting productively with the sister of our drug baron and produced this little gem of information. Seemingly after the incident with the girl unfortunate to attract Giles roving hands the _Touchstones_ management were not happy with his continued membership or her dismissal." Alec paused and then added, "Tom wasn't quite sure from what he was told but he gathered his initial information was wrong. The management circumvented the order to sack her by finding her another job behind the scenes, transfer rather than dismissal."

Malcolm was looking increasingly grave, leading Harry to remark after a searching glance,

"You don't seem surprised Malcolm, which suggests you are holding something back."

Avoiding answering Harry for a moment Malcom addressed Alec, "Any chance Tom could follow this up with the girl since she has a link with the crowd he's undercover with? It occurs to me that she might just give us the opportunity to breach their security."

Alec smiled the smug smile of one who'd second guessed where they'd be going next. "Working on it as we speak."

Having confirmed that approach Malcom then explained to Harry, who was looking increasingly impatient, a further reminder that the transformation had not touched the essence of the inner man.

"I think I've discovered a tentative connection between Giles and the first leak." Taking a deep breath, "And once again a woman is in the frame."

Pressing a button on the sleeping laptop Malcolm pulled up a picture of a brunette who, if not a stunner, was certainly easy enough on the eye. "Jane Townsend. PA to the CEO of Harborts Security Specialists. They manage prisons but also have an expanding portfolio in cybercrime and security." As I recall Harry you said they were the favoured bidder."

Harry's nod substituted for the phrase, "So what of it", although Alec seemed slightly less bemused as he crowed triumphantly, "Ah, so she was the squeeze before Miss Aristocrat came along."

Harry patently furious that Alec was privy to something he was unaware of barked "Yes", while Malcolm was also tight lipped at having his scoop scooped. Alec attempted to calm them both, "I spent some time trawling the Internet for pictures of Giles and his social circle while Serge was sleeping and I was forced to avoid Connie. It was just one picture at some meet and greet party, nothing exactly intimate but the clue was in her face as she looked at him. As you hadn't told me the name of the Security company involved I didn't make the connection. Given what we know about him I'd just assumed that he dumped her for a better proposition."

Before he was choked off again Malcolm hurried to reveal the rest.

"That matches my research. As far as I can tell it was a short lived flirtation," only to be semi corrected by Alec enquiring salaciously "Is that your euphemism for a short term shag?"

Malcolm chose not to respond even while occurred to him that Jed and Alec were not dissimilar in some respects, although he accepted that Alec's skill as a highly effective operator did in part compensate for his crudity. "As I was saying the relationship took place around the time frame of the bid."

Harry his interest aroused enquired of Malcolm, "And her background?"

"Age around twenty five. Decent degree in business from Oxford, subsequent career, a couple of previous high flying PA jobs, lives on her own in a small flat, no known serious relationships, other than Giles and no known debts other than a manageable mortgage."

"So no known need for money." Harry pursed his lips in thought as Alec voiced the obvious. "So the question arises was she source of the leak?"

Malcolm almost sighed, "Yes and working on that assumption, just as importantly was she an innocent dupe or actively complicit?"

Harry groaned, "We need to know and there is only one way to find out without pulling her in for formal questioning – Malcolm can you arrange some covert way for me to wangle an introduction to her?"

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 ** _For reasons to do with the storyline I had to adjust Jane's age , occupation and referencing the photo we saw of her in S5 make her a brunette. I did say this was AU._**

 ** _Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated. I'm hoping to post one more chapter before I take some holiday._**


	8. Chapter 8: The Party

**_Thanks to those who read the last chapter and for the lovely reviews. This is likely to be my last posting for while as I'm taking some holiday and have still to complete the draft of the next chapter let alone polish it. Also Internet access might be difficult, as in not much in evidence._**

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 **Craft against vice I must apply (Act 3 Sc I line 533)**

The party, a high end meet, greet and networking event of the variety that Harry normally either avoided, or failing that made his excuses to leave asap, was in its full alcoholic swing when he eventually arrived. The intention underlying his delayed appearance was not be fashionably late, an affectation that in Harry's old fashioned punctilious view was merely an excuse for bad manners, but to ensure that his entrance was as unobtrusive as possible. Thankfully since this was primarily a commercial affair it was more or less minus the presence of those he reluctantly consorted with when required to attend a black tie event. Even so a thorough check by the indefatigable Malcolm had indicated that in his real life as Harry Pearce his path had crossed briefly with a couple of individuals present, plus of course the ubiquitous Giles. Really the man was like a mosquito, an unwanted malign nuisance buzzing around everywhere serving no useful purpose whatsoever, although sadly a quick fatal squirt with DDT was not a removal option. Despite Harry's altered appearance he was determined not to attract even the most casual of attention unnecessarily. For someone who routinely made the denizens of Thames House tremble by his very arrival Harry could, when required, emulate the invisible man – which was, of course, precisely why he'd survived the field and subsequently been transformed into MI5's very own internal terrorist - but in a good way - or so he liked to think.

Almost sidling into the large conference room, whose bland decoration reminded him of his secret flat, only on a much larger scale, Harry initially busied himself collecting a crystal glass of some indeterminate vintage from the constantly circulating waiting staff, all the while simultaneously surveying his surroundings in more detail. His immediate impression was that the room seemed to be populated by an excessively large number of well endowed, decorative women, leading him to the inescapable conclusion that there was a subliminal off the books masterplan to seduce the business men present by tempting them with the three smaller figures - variants on 36, 26, 36 - that did not customarily feature on the healthy balance sheets waved at shareholders. For his part Harry's very anonymity meant that he was proof against the blandishments of the big breasted temptresses, he had no deal to offer, and therefore his decidedly sullied virtue remained safe for the evening.

Harry's scanning of the room was eventually rewarded by a glimpse of the woman he was seeking. Unfortunately she was currently trapped at the opposite side which would necessitate his moving. Having espied her he also automatically assessed her, hmmm….not as obviously flashy as some of the other females present, but clad in the regulation little black dress she was displaying a very attractive figure supported by a pair of shapely legs. Unaware of the scrutiny from afar she was speaking rapidly to a man whom Harry, who'd read Malcolm's research document from cover to cover, knew to be her CEO . Even at this distance he could tell from the body language that she was ill at ease, the cause not hard to discern. Her employer was clearly pointing in the direction of a Chinese gentleman. The utterly false smile plastered across her face as she sashayed her way across towards the targeted individual supported Harry's guess was that she'd been instructed to employ her feminine wiles, and was not ecstatic at the prospect. Harry wasn't about to interfere in the progress of commerce although he trusted, not entirely confidently given the prevailing ambience, that her instructions stopped short of actual seduction cum prostitution. Content to stand back and sip his wine while he obtained more accurate bearings, few of the assembled self importances spared a glance at the man in the shadows who was particularly observing the little knot of people of whom Jane Townsend was one.

All the faces were equally unreadable, a standoff, or more accurately a drink off, between the Chinese delegation polite but inscrutable versus the British charm offensive that said little and hid much, Jane noticeably employing an animation that had not been present a few minutes previously. After a short conversation the CEO presumably now satisfied with whatever outcome had transpired shepherded his guests towards another quarter, leaving Jane alone, her mask of enjoyment dropping the second their backs were turned. Now that she was released and deserted Harry judged it time to emerge from his secluded corner and make his introductory move. Having discarded his half empty glass he was in the very act of lifting his foot to take a small step forward when Jane was suddenly accosted by another male. Harry recognised him instantly, it was the image that he'd been living with for the past three weeks, and he probably know more about the man than his mother did. If fact considering some of what Harry knew, and even more of what he suspected, concerning the recent antics of Giles Bamford- Smythe Harry trusted that the Bamford Symthe mater was basking in her ignorance.

Giles might be flashily handsome but his opening words failed to match the features of the outward man as he greeted Jane with a supercilious sneer, "On your own Jane?" then with a nod to the retreating group, "driven them off – can't say I'm surprised, no conversation and not the looks to compete with all the other lovely women here." Although Jane's reaction was to stubbornly attempt to ignore these comments which were emphatically not cricket, her distressed face implied that Giles had at least hit a four, as a further taunt reached her ears, "Not quite up to certain standards to keep an man interested are you?"

Harry, whose eyebrows had drawn together in an involuntary frown with Giles' first words, had heard quite enough of this abuse. As he emerged from his background lurking post he knew that he was taking a risk, but was prepared to take on a punt on Giles' utter self absorption not penetrating the disguise of a man he'd met once for a brief two minute exchange six months plus ago. Moving towards Jane, while for further protection positioning himself so he was not presenting full face to Giles, he declaimed,

"Surprise Jane, I got away early."

It was a toss up whose jaw dropped the farthest, Jane's or Giles'. Taking advantage of the joint astounded silence Harry approaching Jane leant over and on the pretence of kissing her cheek whispered into her ear, "I'll explain later."

Even for Harry the super spy who'd been in numerous life threatening situations this was a heart stopping moment during which he postulated an exit strategy lest Jane denounced him on the spot – some weird management assessment of how staff dealt with the unexpected seemed to be his best bet – the opportunity to see if this swiftly invented cover story would have worked effectively floated away on Jane's reply,

"It is indeed – what are you doing here?" delivered with lilt of recognition that implied she was prepared to play along with the pretence.

Blaguing shamelessly Harry informed her, "My meeting finished early and I wanted to share the good news with you."

Jane smiled a slow smile, her face glowing with a pleasure that Harry knew was utterly spurious. Combined with his early observation he was rapidly coming to the inescapable conclusion that in Jane the business world's gain was almost certainly the theatre world's loss. In comparison Giles, wrong footed and ignored, was looking thunderous as he almost snarled, "The lady and I were having a private conversation, and who are you anyway?"

Harry the ever fertile when it came to improvisation replied calmly, "My apologies, I'll wait for you over there Jane," nodding in the direction of the other side of the room near the bar.

Giles wasn't about to let the matter rest, snapping "YOU haven't answered my question."

"Sorry was it a question? It sounded more like a demand. I'm Horatio Henry Prince CEO of a data imaging company, and I prefer Harry to Horry." Harry in a rare act of honesty skipped on the pleased to meet you cliché since actually he wasn't, as he echoed back, "Now who exactly are you?"

Giles pulled himself up to his full six foot two hoping to intimidate Harry's five foot ten, "Giles Smythe-Banford," in a voice that suggested Harry should be overawed. It didn't work, his ego being inflicted with a grievous wound as Horry/Harry commented thoughtfully,

"Can't say I've heard your name before", then worse followed as, with a semi theatrical gesture, Harry shook his head as if recognition had suddenly dawned, "of course, how stupid of me – you were the one Jane mentioned to me." As Giles was beginning to preen himself Harry then added in a reflective tone, "Never mind I'm sure you'll get over her decision to dump you."

Giles' face almost contorted in fury, signalling to Harry that he'd just made an enemy for life, like he cared. Opening his mouth with what Harry assumed was the probable intent of unchivalrously refuting that statement Giles was further stymied and left gaping like an inefficient goldfish as Harry grasped Jane's hand stating,

"Please excuse us. We have a number of personal matters to catch up with."

With that he towed a far from reluctant Jane away to the far side of the room.

He'd made contact with her. So far so good. As they weaved their way through the chattering groups of nonentities, Harry's mind was working overtime as he tried to decide his next move, while sending up thanks that he'd managed to successfully avoid being recognised by the rancid Giles. Not that that prevented Harry, as a spy himself, being appalled at the ease with which he'd deceived the acting head of counter terrorism. Typical of a certain type of desk officer, incredibly efficient when it came to following this week's barmpot rules, while they would fail to recognise a terrorist even if they were stood in front of them bearing a ticking bag marked bomb! For now however Harry had more pressing concerns than the risks posed by MI5 myopia. The first issue confronting him being what the hell was he going to actually going say to Jane Townsend to explain both his knowledge and behaviour? And since she was tamely going along with his pretence that they were an item a subsidiary question arose, namely why was she not denouncing him?

A modicum of enlightenment on this last occurred when, once they reached the sanctuary of the farthest corner she, while standing in a close enough proximity to support the fiction, and still wearing a carefully arranged earnest expression hissed, "Thanks for getting me away, but why have you gate crashed?" and before he could answer followed the up with, "And who exactly are you?"

Managing to gaze into her eyes with the besotted expression of a man who'd been apart from his current partner for several days Harry smoothly articulated, "I gave you my name."

"I'd noticed, but as I checked the invitation list I also know you weren't invited, so who are you and how do you know my name?"

Harry almost sighed aloud. When Malcolm had introduced Jane into the operational mix as the possible source of a leak Harry's assumption had been that despite her degree she was something of an airhead, how else could you explain her involvement with Giles? He now realised that this was a mistake that could easily prove to be his downfall. Breathing out he made the only reply he could, "I'm willing to explain. But not here – it's a little delicate."

With a calm, lovely smile Jane gestured with her head towards a side door. "The event organiser arranged for few private rooms for business conversations."

Recalling his earlier thoughts when he'd noticed that several of the women were wearing black dresses, in which the word 'little' chiefly reflected an absence of much material, Harry had no difficulty in working out the form of business contemplated, or the construction that his vanishing with Jane would arouse. Still he didn't have much choice, especially when with a glance so slight no one would be aware he'd made it, he'd noted that Giles was still watching them with a very unpleasant expression on his face. With an imperceptible nod of agreement to Jane they made a move, hands still seemingly welded together.

Taking his lead from Jane he allowed her to steer him into the nearest vacant room, whose availability was indicated by an open door, revealing an interior very unsubtly furnished with drapes, a chaise longue, fluffy fur rugs and a coffee table on which perched a small crystal bowl containing what at first glance seemed to be a selection of foil wrapped biscuits, and at a second proved to be condoms, thoughtfully provided in a variety of fruit salad flavours. No sooner had Jane had firmly snapped the door catch behind them than she dropped his hand. Leaning against the door with folded arms, a combative no nonsense stance that made escape impossible unless he roughly swept her aside as precursor to running, she issued a one word challenge, "Well."

At least his journey to this interrogation had afforded Harry an opportunity to develop yet another off the cuff cover story. Like all the best of cover stories it sailed close enough to the truth to obscure it.

"I'm a private detective."

Jane took a moment to process this news before asking the obvious, "So who or what are you detecting?" in a defensive voice.

Harry produced his most charming smile, the one that few women could resist as he suggested, "If you come and sit down I'll explain in full." Fingers metaphorically crossed behind his back.

If Jane wasn't exactly relaxing she unbent sufficiently to move towards the chaise longue. Harry remained standing, waiting until she was settled before fulfilling his false promise.

"I've been commissioned to investigate Giles Smythe-Bamford. As you are no doubt aware he has recently announced his engagement to Lady Chastity Felsham. Her father being the cautious sort wants him vetted, see how he behaves, as he doesn't want some upstart damaging the escutcheon."

Casually leaning against the wall he noticed that he had Jane's full attention. Her face wearing an unfathomable expression– presumably due to his just having reminded her that the subject of their conversation had dumped her for a better proposition. Taking a few moments she then asked, "So what do you achieve by turning up here?"

Good question he had to admit, Malcolm had asked much the same.

"Normally I wouldn't but the fiancé wants to set a date and I've only about five weeks to discover everything I can, as I said my brief includes his company manners."

Any plan Harry had to expand this theme was instantly destroyed by a firm incessant thumping on the door panels accompanied by a voice declaring loudly, "Jane I need you to confirm some dates."

Harry unhesitatingly interpreted this as Jane's boss really asking, "What are you up to and who with?" Noting his companion's look of alarm and not wishing to jeopardise her career prospects Harry opened the door, forestalling the recrimination hovering on the tongue of the choleric alcohol flushed individual who was standing outside, by smoothly thanking him. "I'm grateful you were able to allow me time to discuss a proposition with Jane, her advice has been invaluable."

If the person he was addressing was not entirely sure of the veracity of this claim, the lack of rumpled clothing on either party and waste basket innocent of foil, did tend to support the theory that a five minute discussion was all that had taken place in the room.

With suspicions not entirely dispelled Jane's employer decided to let the matter drop."Very well but I need Jane now." Noting the emphasis on the last word Harry decided it was time to scram before any awkward questions could be posed by someone whose business knowledge outstripped his own. Not an unlikely scenario given that while Harry's father had been a banker Harry himself while belonged to the section of the population who tended to regarded Mr Micawber as a financial guru. His personal cash flow operating on the premise that debt was to be avoided, unlike the world of commerce with its jargon of leverage, debt trading and off the books transactions.

Not wanting to place his incognito in further danger, he'd already riled Giles and with the CEO was still glaring at him Harry turning to Jane informed her, "I'll wait for you in the foyer as I need to give you a few more contact details." He then departed with speed before Jane's superior could collet himself sufficiently to demand a glimpse of Harry's invitation, the one delicately forged by the ever versatile Malcolm. Having been disturbed in mid conference with Jane before he could proceed further Harry could only trust that piqued curiosity and gratitude vis a vis her rescue from Giles' bullying utterances would overcome Jane's understandable reluctance to confide in a total stranger.

It was some an half hour later when the event finally began to break up, its gradual closure signalled by various individuals in various states of inebriation staggering through the foyer, some escorting the women, some even at this time of night glued to mobiles demanding that their unfortunate employees abandon the less pressing demands of Morpheus in favour of the more pressing demands of the wheels of commerce. Seemingly if said wheels failed to turn throughout the night some disaster would befall the world and even worse, the company owner would lose face by not being able to provide his luxury three story house with a fashionably excavated basement featuring a cinema, swimming pool, wine cellar, gym and other essentials to modern urban living. Harry with little to do other than wait in hope was quietly noting a few names. He had a couple of Fraud Squad contacts and it was always useful to provide Intel with a view to calling in future favours. Eventually as the last of the stragglers vanished out into the warm London night Jane reappeared. Harry's apprehensions that once removed from his presence caution in trusting a stranger would prevail vanished, along with the airy wave with which she signalled her approach. Behind her as she descended the looming figure of Giles posed at the top of the stairs, his eyes narrowed with a combined suspicion and jealously. Dog in the manger Harry decided.

Jane, not being gifted with eyes in the back of her head and therefore oblivious to this development, gave a look of alarm that thankfully Giles missed as Harry advanced towards her saying with nicely calculated air of lover's impatience, "Ah there you are at last." As he reached her he managed to hiss a warning through barely opened lips, "Giles." Jane reacted immediately, throwing her arms around him as she exclaimed in joyful apology, "Sorry it took so long, I really want to hear your news."

Putting his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of possession Harry commented in a deliberate carrying voice, his words definitely pushing his luck, "So a taxi to your place then?"

To his delight, and Giles distant fury, Jane pecked him on the cheek as she replied in a husky undertone that promised much, "Where else?"

* * *

 ** _Many thanks for reading. if you have a moment a review would be nice. The story will continue as soon as I can find the time to write the next chapter. Oh and I don't suppose most business is conducted on the lines implied in this chapter - at least I hope not._**


	9. Chapter 9: Jane's Flat

**Sorry for the delay in posting. Also a warning - some of this probably nudges M territory but I don't want to change the rating for one chapter. I needed this to be a little more explicit than is my personal preference to meld it with the later storyline. Otherwise my only excuse is that I'm writing the earlier more ebullient Harry who has not been dragged down by events and a failed marriage and/or edgy relationship with Ruth. Can I also thank all those who've read so far and also thank those who reviewed.**

* * *

 **Most dangerous**

 **Is that temptation that doth goad us on**

 **To sin in loving virtue (Act 2 Sc 2 line 181-183)**

Waking up naked next to a similarly unclad, although still sleeping Jane, Harry was mentally replaying the events of the previous evening, events which even by his standards had proved unexpected. He was also inwardly congratulating himself for his wisdom in opting for contact lenses that he could sleep in while having simultaneously rejected the adoption of a wig. Although a full head of seeming hair would undoubtedly have enhanced his disguise, the likelihood that his scalp would be accidentally bared in a high wind or, as it had transpired, exposed in a moment of hectic passion would have blasted his identity cover beyond redemption. Stripping down to his bare skin was risk enough, despite which he had to admit the sex had been an enjoyable development.

Following on from Jane's announcement, patently intended to continue their joint policy of wrongfooting Giles the banjaxed, that they would of course be returning to her place it logically followed that they had both silently consented, without consultation, to stick with the pretence that they were an item. Thoroughly aware that the confounded Giles was persistently watching their every move in continuing disbelief of his own eyes and ears they had departed together, even to the extent of cosily squashing both their bodies into one compartment of the revolving exit door. Once out into the street Harry had instantly commandeered a waiting taxi, very chivalrously handing Jane into it with every show of tenderness as Giles speedily descended the stairs. As their vehicle drew away he was glimpsed by Harry to be standing on the inside of the glass door watching their departure. That Giles had clearly been unsettled was a cue for two seconds of inner chortling before Harry was forced to abandon his petty triumph and switch his attention back towards Jane.

Still uncertain of her motives, and not wishing to take her totally unexpected complicity for granted, once they had been driven a few streets distance from the hotel he offered her the option of release. "If you're uncomfortable with this we could just go for a drink."

He might as well have addressed the air. Jane, ignoring him instead snapped out a direction, which Harry recognised as her home address, to the driver. With that done she expended no further words and having moved as far away from him as was possible within the limited confines of the taxi cab sat back to contemplate whatever, her expression giving Harry no clue as to her inner thought. The silence was palpable not to say unsettling, leaving Harry with nothing to do other than savour the lingering whiffs of her perfume – expensive he noted – while wondering what his next move should be, and thoroughly cogniscent of the inconvenient fact he wasn't the one in control and therefore it wasn't entirely his decision. Judging from the slightly set look on Jane's face, illuminated in the endlessly changing light and shade cast by the street lights as the driver steered his skilful way through London by night, she was in no mood for conversation, trivial or otherwise. Harry trained in that most elementary of interrogation techniques, namely never to break a silence, was content to consider his various options while he waited for Jane to crack. From his point of view she was remaining unadmirably silent, a situation that continued until their transport eventually halted outside a set of smart modern flats, whereupon, without actually looking at him she uttered a single word with a questioning cadence, _"Coffee'_. As Harry intoned ' _yes thank you'_ while extracting his wallet to do the gentlemanly thing of paying for the taxi - he could always place it on expenses if he so chose - his mind was pondering whether the offer of coffee actually referred to a drink made from maltreated beans or whether it was a euphemism for an alternative activity. In his not unlimited experience it could mean either.

The answer to this vexed question was divulged almost immediately. Following in Jane's wake, she hadn't wasted time waiting for him to clamber out of the taxi, choosing instead to walk briskly across the walkway leading to the communal entrance, he found himself hovering at her elbow as she hit the key pad that allowed entree into the block, an action then superseded by her unlocking her front door as a precursor to ushering him over her threshold. The flat, as Harry well knew was in estate agent speak a modern two bed, one reception room, kitchen diner with bathroom construction. Having indicated that he was to enter she shed her light evening coat by simple the dint of casually dumping it over the back of a conveniently positioned easy chair and headed straight towards the kitchen, instructing him as she did so to, ' _Make yourself comfortable'_. Although he was still wondering what would come next Harry, whose military training had left him as something of a neat freak, having folded her coat for her took her advice as he sat down. With Jane out of sight he was able to unashamedly catalogue all the details of the sitting room, the most salient of which for him was a computer station neatly tucked away in the corner, complete with laptop and a few cardboard wallets lying in a small wire tray next to the keyboard. Gathering from the clicks and clinks emanating from the kitchen that Jane was still occupied in producing the promised coffee he moved silently to the desk and quickly scanned the documents. As he'd suspected – work related drafts of letters advising clients of contract terms - although in such general outline these particular items scarcely breached confidentiality. Even so neatly filed in named folders they were easy enough for anyone to access should they be so inclined.

Slipping back to the sofa before Jane emerged he considered the matter, if Giles had had entre into Jane's flat and knew that she habitually brought confidential papers home then grabbing the sensitive Intel would have been a routinely easy task for any spook with a modicum of technical knowledge. Having previously conceived a great dislike of Giles, which his rude address to Jane had only increased, Harry was now desperately hoping that at worst Jane could be accused of carelessness, although he did wonder what the hell she was doing bringing sensitive documents home in the first place.

His musings were broken by the re-appearance of Jane carrying a tray on which reposed an already plunged cafetiere and two cups saying apologetically, "I'm sorry I should have asked if you would prefer alcohol'. Harry produced his most charming smile, when in doubt with women flirt, as he replied, "Thanks but I'd prefer the coffee," picking up his cup he inhaled the rich aroma of scalded beans as he remarked conversationally, "I need to keep a clear head to explain to you." As Jane was busy sipping her own drink he decided to postpone explanation in favour of trying to obtain one as he commented, "Nice flat by the way, although I see you can't escape work entirely.'"

Jane groaned the groan of the reluctant workaholic, "I know – I try to avoid it but the international time clock produces a few issues…..anyway I did insist that if I had to bring documents home given that the firm's profile is security the least they could do was pay for a safe and set up a secure IT link from the office." Almost as if she'd read his mind she waved her hand towards the small cupboard Harry had noticed was fixed just above the desk area, "I didn't fancy having the safe on show so it's stowed out of sight." That piece of information slightly heartened Harry, although if the safe was the usual private ' _sold at Argos or the equivalent'_ variety that Malcolm regarded with scathing contempt, ' _Easier to crack than a hard boiled egg'_ , it was unlikely to pose much of a deterrent to the determined, such as Giles with the pressing need to service his debts and no doubt in receipt of expert advice from his handlers.

Not wanting to reveal his sudden surge of interest in what she'd said, he was prevented from giving himself away when Jane having swallowed some of her coffee and carefully taken the easy chair placed at an angle to the sofa said, "Thinking about it I'm puzzled as to your story, I mean why set a detective onto Giles, why not just ask his colleagues at the Ministry of Agriculture?'

Noting automatically that Giles was attributing his government salary to the department that most spooks abrogated for a cover story Harry's mind was whirring as he attempted to preserve his own.

"As I believe I mentioned, it's his future pater in law to be who's employing me. He doesn't want any whisper of this to reach his daughter – seemingly she's besotted and dim with it – as for asking questions around his office, well there's always someone with a large mouth and no sense of discretion."

"And if I know anything to Giles' discredit what is to stop me going straight to the girl to warn her?"

Harry was able to swot that objection away with relative ease. "Nothing at all, but would she believe you? And even if she did, a PA who gossips – not exactly a great career move is it."

Jane took another mouthful of her now cooling coffee before thoughtfully asking, "So why approach me as you did?"

Harry was beginning to appreciate why Jane was holding down a major PA position in a top company at such a young age. Her ability to effortlessly cut through waffle as she drilled down to the essential facts of the matter was undoubtedly an attribute when taking minutes or précising documents for her CEO while he languidly talking business at the nineteenth hole. For him however it was posing ever more difficult questions to tack around. In general Harry's personal preference was for women in possession of more than one brain cell but in this instance it could be dangerous.

"If I can't ask around his workplace then the next best option is to see how he behaves in public.' Before Jane could voice any objection to this dubious procedure Harry, with the first piece of absolute truth to pass his lips all evening stated firmly, "I wasn't impressed with what overheard him saying to you so on an impulse I decided to indicate that someone present found you attractive." Aware of how that might just sound he hastened to complete the compliment, "As indeed you are."

Jane's smile fell slightly short of gratified as she demanded with a hint of sarcasm, "Is that your technique, spill the butter boat to get me to tell?"

"Only if you want to – I have enough to make a report," allaying her alarmed start with, "all anonymous of course , as will be anything else you chose to mention."

Jane heaved a sigh, "Well I suppose I owe you one for rescuing me, although how I explain your vanishing after tonight's performance might leave me worse off."

Now she'd drawn his attention to that little matter Harry understood the difficulties he'd inadvertently presented her with. "Hmmm, true – just say I'm abroad for a few weeks, extended business trip, by which time Giles might have more pressing issues to cope with."

With that conversation hitting a natural its natural conclusion the pair were nearly in sync as they both consumed the final dregs of their coffee. Harry was the first to reopen the debate as he commented on a puzzle that had been lurking at the back of his mind ever since he'd witnessed Giles deliberately encountering her with intent to belittle.

"He seemed unnecessarily unpleasant considering that he'd ended your relationship."

Instead of bursting into tears as he'd half expected Jane sounded almost triumphant as she commented, "I suppose in a roundabout way it was a compliment." A statement that made Harry blink with a rapidity that threatened to dislodge his contact lenses. Women were a strange unfathomable breed!

"Indeed."

"No, he's cross because he likes to be in control and you were accidentally right in what you said –I did dump him."

There was only one possible answer to that, "Congratulations." It was half a joke but it drew forth no answering smile from Jane, who still seemed troubled. Now in receipt of an explanation Harry, while no longer puzzled by Giles open hostility, remained confused by Jane's apparent misery. Also since she'd made the decision another question remained,

"So why let the world think otherwise?"

Jane was almost wriggling with discomfort, "Because I don't want to admit why I dumped him." In terms of clarity her reasoning seemed as opaque as frosted glass.

"And do you want to enlighten me now I know the truth?"

Jane's angst seemed to be increasing by the minute, although, since she'd not ordered him to leave, as was her right, Harry divined that she wanted to fess up but was being held back by some invisible barrier. Considering for a moment the lengthening silence he added as a final throw. "With what I heard this evening I can make a report without adding further details, including your name."

Appealing to Jane's better nature based on his guesses he challenged her calmly, "Tell me if I'm mistaken. He made himself charming until something went wrong and then he turned – so I have to ask do you really want to feel responsible for allowing another woman to suffer that because you remained silent."

From the stricken expression springing into Jane's eyes he'd made a home hit. A less experienced interrogator would have hammered the point home. Harry just sat back and waited while Jane, hugging herself as if to ward off some hidden hurt, sighed quietly,

"Very well but this is really shaming – you see I've never had much in the way of personal relationships – even at university, I'd just scraped into Oxford and really had to focus on my work and since I graduated, well my working hours can be long and erratic, if the CEO is away I often have to stay late until he calls."

While Jane paused to swallow Harry was enjoying a rare moment of empathy with a woman. He knew the feeling about working hours v relationships with the exception that he was the boss, or was he, was his real boss the terrorist scum who so frequently disrupted his life. Pushing the thought away he returned his concentration to what Jane was saying,

"As a result the only men I meet are colleagues and workplace relationships can cause problems."

Harry could also understand that one as well, although his university career with women had been varied, his position as Head of Section D had ensured that his intimate life had dwindled into a drought, his conquests between the sheets being in inverse proportion to the rising terrorist threat. He had no time to dwell on ancient history as Jane, now she'd started, was obviously intent on confessing all.

"So when Giles drifted across my path at an evening similar to tonight's and then asked me to dinner I thought nice man, makes a change, why not."

She paused reliving her recent past, prompting Harry to ask, "So what went wrong?"

Jane was almost sinking into her chair with embarrassment as if hoping to hide behind the cushions as she said in a very small voice, completely minus her more definite intonations, "When I slept with him."

Without a more exact description of the difficulty and not wishing to make enquiries that could be characterised as prurient Harry settled for a neutral 'Ah' in comment.

Jane managed to come overcome her reticence as she elucidated further, "I was the problem – well – I couldn't react properly."

Harry was rather wishing he'd held the 'Ah' comment back as he struggled to reply and finally managed a, "Hmm I see."

Jane rewarded him with a sad little smile, "I doubt that – you see at first Giles was very understanding, put it down to my lack of experience and suggested a possible remedy."

Harry, although rarely encountering a frigid woman but ever keen to embellish his own techniques against the day or rather the night he when might actually have time once again to use the king size bed in his secret flat for more than sleeping in, was quietly agog to discover Giles' solution, "And..."

Jane was beginning to blush. "He thought the problem might be that I just didn't feel sexy so he suggested I get in the mood by buying more erotic underwear."

That old cliché, Harry interjected, "Let me guess, black stockings and suspender belt."

"More or less – but with split crotch panties and a bra that exposed my nipples."

Harry's immediate thought was that a perv in charge was all Section D needed. Under the circumstances he was sending up silent thanks to Malcolm for miking the Section Head's office, if Giles felt secure enough in post he might just make the mistake repeating his _'Touchstones_ ' conduct with a female spook. If Harry couldn't get him on treason they might just be able to fall back on sexual harassment. In the here and now he commented lightly to Jane, "I assume the solution didn't work."

By now Jane's face was the colour of a distressed strawberry, "No…so then….well I might as well tell the rest."

Harry's mind was truly boggling, there was more! What next!

"He suggested that I was inhibited because I was me and suggested some role play."

"Don't tell me, tarts and vicars."

"No." Before Harry could breathe again Jane qualified this rejoinder with, "Not quite, Romans and slaves – that didn't work either. Finally one evening he left me tied to the bed for half an hour while he snacked in the kitchen. This was despite my yelling to be free. When he untied me he just laughed, so I decided I'd had enough and ended it."

Harry was suddenly mentally computing – half an hour – quite long enough to crack a safe and grab the data – as he asked, "When was that?"

"About four months ago." Suddenly suspicious Jane queried, "Why?"

"Just wondering if he was dating you and Chastity at the same time – that was all." So Giles was screwing her slap bang in the time frame the leak took place. While that did confirm Malcolm's theory it wasn't doing much for Harry's personal equilibrium, his gratitude in fixing Giles in what he was now certain was in the right place at the right time having been achieved at the price of obtaining rather too much information. The overall result being that the hinterland of Harry's mind was now occupied with the unwanted image of Giles as a gladiator, or on further unbidden consideration possibly not, a Roman Emperor, the top dog wrapped in a toga with a crown of wilting laurel wreaths was probably more Giles' style. Jane having spilt such an embarrassing set of beans was continuing to lambast herself.

"I really wonder why I was so desperate and stupid to go along with it all – I suppose I just wanted to please him."

Harry was in fact becoming increasingly uncomfortable, in general terms, as became a man of action, for him sex was something you did rather than talked about. On the other hand unless he was absolutely forced into it by the exigencies of his profession Harry took a dim view of abusing women. That the lovely woman sitting in front of him in near tears had become collateral damage in Giles' betrayal of his country was filling Harry with a visceral urge to string Giles up – preferably in fitting justice by the balls – while also making him want to soothe and protect Jane. Clearing his throat he made a stab at reassurance,

"Jane you are not stupid – wanting a relationship is normal and so is trying to please the person you are involved with."

Jane sketched a wan smile, "But not to such extremes – it's just to be blunt as I said I'm a lousy lay."

Looking at Jane's figure anew, the thin clinging material of her dress snugly outlining a slim waist topped by a pair nicely shaped breasts with the adjunct of stocking clad legs that seemed to have been deliberately designed to give the average red blooded male thigh exploring fantasies Harry was feeling dangerously challenged as a he attempted a verbal contradiction.

"Have you considered that the problem might not be you?"

Seeing her confused look he pushed on with a conversation that he felt was becoming increasingly bizarre.

"Unlike men sexually speaking women rarely go from nought to sixty in two minutes flat, and I'm prepared to bet that the callow youths who fucked you at university hadn't realised that." He paused to shoot her a wry grin, "I was once myself so…."

"But with Giles….it didn't."

Trying to bite back his opinion of the man he was hoping to disgrace Harry interrupted her continuing self abasement to argue with a degree of asperity,

"Of course it didn't – what he suggested made you feel uncomfortable didn't it?"

Jane gave a nod of assent, "So you wouldn't relax and enjoy." Before he could stop himself Harry descended further in to the unaccustomed role of Agony Aunt or in his case Uncle. "Jane you are attractive, intelligent and just need someone who knows what they are about."

His advice was greeted by a speculative look followed by, "So how about you?"

Harry wasn't sure he'd heard correctly, just in case he had he swiftly informed her, "I don't sleep with clients."

"I'm not a client am I?"

That, he supposed, was one way of having him, while he was considering the proposition Jane quietly added, "It's okay to say you don't fancy me."

She'd given him an acceptable get out but while he could, and should, take advantage of that excuse and leave, Harry discovered within himself a contradictory reluctance to avail himself of it. Quite apart from accepting responsibility for plunging Jane's confidence further, an act that would put him on a par with the despicable Giles, during the last few minutes Harry had become uncomfortably aware that even if his tongue agreed with her suggestion the growing bulge inside his well fitting trousers would out him as a liar. The ethics might be wobbly but Jane's self image had been badly damaged by Giles, she'd played along with Harry's fiction all night and he'd obtained more or less the Intel required to nail Giles with the first leak, surely he owed her something? Besides which she was willing, and he was up for it in every sense of the phrase. On the basis of Jane's confession he could only improve on Giles performance, and given that he'd not had sex for at least six months two weeks and three days - not that he was counting - where exactly was the harm in granting Jane's request? On the other hand prudence dictated that any involvement could compromise his investigation and what precisely was Jane seeking? She'd already admitted to wanting a relationship and Harry had long since eschewed anything of that nature due to the secrecy required by his profession, which made other spooks the best bet to assuage emotional loneliness, unless of course you were the boss in which case prudence also dictated chastity. Decision made then.

Standing up he prepared to make good his departure with as much tact as he could muster, only to be stymied by Jane's crestfallen face and bitter tone, "I knew it – all talk, just another man to use me."

Harry could see her point of view as he essayed an explanation, "It's precisely because I think you deserve more than a one night stand that I'm saying no."

The sceptical snort told him that that one wasn't going to wash."All I want at the moment is one night of decent sex. So are you saying you can't improve on Giles?"

God she knew how to issue a challenge, and at even the vaguest prospect of being bracketed in her mind with the repellent Giles this was one Harry knew he wasn't going to walk away from. With Jane watching his every move he shrugged off his coat, pulled his tie loose and moved towards her. Lips met in a gentle kiss. Sensing that Jane was nervous he slowly deepened it. Pulling her body towards his and gently running his hands down her back he thought that now he'd taken her at her word and was prepared to console her through the medium of a good, thorough fuck he should check that she was of still the same mind.

Breaking off for a moment and holding her slightly apart Harry asked, "Are you sure you want this?"

Jane said nothing, but in a manner reminiscent of earlier in the evening silently confirmed her agreement as she took his hand and lead him through a door into a bedoom that was furnished with a comfortable looking double bed and fitted furniture but otherwise was mercifully, as far as Harry was concerned, a fluffy toys and frill free zone. For some reason he'd never felt comfortable shagging under the reproachful wide eyed gaze of a battered Pooh bear, while opening his eyes the morning after in room smothered in a candyfloss of lace tended to unpleasantly imply that he'd spent the night before deflowering Little Miss Muffet. Not that he was afforded much time to note the décor, Jane was beginning to unbutton his shirt for him and much as he appreciated her eagerness once she'd moved her attention to fumble with his belt buckle he stayed her hand. A painful incident caused by an incautious unzipping trapping his upright member would be a bit of a downer. Before she could take this as rejection he smiled reassuringly, "It's fine, it's just that I'd rather tackle my zip myself – on the other hand, I'd love to tackle yours."

In less than thirty seconds after that utterance Harry's hand had gently reached behind Jane and pulled down the long zip that secured her dress. Revealing a creamy skin and, as she stepped out of the puddle of black cloth, such scanty underpinnings that Harry wondered why Giles had thought that his smutty suggestions could improve on the arousing sight. Then remembering that Jane was supposedly the one with the difficulties he ran his fingers experimentally over her stomach. Having noted her shudder of anticipation within two minutes he'd eased her towards the bed, where with her stretched on top of the covers still clad in her minimal underwear, with a speed borne of practice Harry having swiftly removed all his clothes bar his briefs was now slowly and gently caressing her body. Initially teasing her with long feather light strokes, which he gradually increased in intensity as she began to vibrate with expectation. As he sensed her excitement mounting Harry judged it time to unclip her bra. Throwing the item onto the floor the sight of her naked breasts confirmed his earlier assessment that she possessed a very nice pair indeed, beautifully rounded and in fervent need of some expert fondling and kissing. An invitation that Harry happily accepted as his lips occupied themselves stimulating one nipple while his fingers ensured that the other didn't fell neglected.

Within another few minutes as Jane's body began to arch and moans of sheer pleasure reached his ears he slowly pulled off her knickers pausing for a quick check with his ever skilful digits that she was ready to receive him. No problem there. The quiet sound of the lacy slivers hitting the carpet was accompanied by a marginally louder thud as his own discarded briefs joined them before, with Harry now positioned on top of a wide open Jane, the garment owners were similarly united. Jane's ringing endorsement of 'Oh God…Harry…ahhhh" apparently confusing Harry with the deity, despite his being fully occupied in the very unangelic activity of ensuring that events reached a conclusion satisfactory to both parties.

Now as he reviewed events in the dawn light Harry concluded that a good time had been had by both, any further thoughts being banished as Jane stirring beside him murmured. "Good morning, I did wonder if you might have sneaked away in the night."

"Only if I have to – not that I'm expecting breakfast."

Jane stretching out like a cat, her arms above her head giving him a full view of bared breasts – yes they looked just as good in the morning light– informed him, "I was thinking before I drifted off into sleep last night."

Oh dear – red alert when a woman said that. It usually meant bad news. Perhaps he should have picked up his trousers and vanished.

Unaware of his mild alarm Jane speculated as she pressed her body against his. Mmm very nice. "It occurs to me that Giles has turned up at several events like yesterday's for no specific reason so I wondered would you like me to check the rumour mill see what I can find out. It might be easier for me to infiltrate the business world."

Confirmation that Jane was no fool – but knowing the basic tenets pertaining to the business world he wondered what the price would be, not a free lunch that was for sure. Before he could ask Jane answered his query. "You said you only had about four weeks before you vanish – instead of putting about that you've gone abroad how about we meet up? Look as if we are having a relationship and then I can say we've quarrelled."

He'd heard worse plans, but a certain apprehension crept into his question. "Err…. but why help me you really don't owe me anything at all?"

"After last night I do." A totally so far unheard vicious tone crept into Jane's voice. "Giles belittled me, made me feel crap and now I know there is nothing wrong with me. It will be a pleasure to have some revenge even if he doesn't know the details."

Given his knowledge of the man Harry had some sympathy with her 'Hell hath' attitude but he wasn't sure about the pretending to be an item suggestion. Was he being suckered into a long term relationship by a very bright and border line desperate woman?

"The problem for me Jane is that my job doesn't allow for personal relationships."

"That's okay – I didn't dump a man who I now know for a liar to take up with one who lies for a living. What I'm asking is that we have the odd drink in public while in private …" She paused hesitated and then in a rush made her management pitch, "I'm offering you no strings sex, – it's strictly friends with benefits. I enjoyed last night but you did all the work, so the benefit for me is I'm hoping you can expand my knowledge of how to actively please a man in bed – sans bondage and awful underwear."

Harry wondered what sort of man could refuse that offer; a highly attractive woman with a clear pragmatic and logical streak was asking him for sex lessons. Since he was confident that he could satisfy her requirements it was clearly a win win set up. She'd receive a master class level of tuition during the next four weeks, while providing his penis with some welcome extra curricular exercise. It certainly would give him something occupy the time that was hanging heavy on his hands. A situation that was probably going to pertain for the next week or so until the cornerstone of his masterplan was launched. Meanwhile squatting in Serge's flat waiting for Ilya Gavrik to contact him was lacking a certain excitement. Under those circumstances he might as well take up Jane's offer and go undercover or more accurately under the covers literally. Getting one up Jane and by implication one over Giles was a very appealing prospect and after all it wouldn't be the first time he'd used his body to cultivate an asset.

Turning to face Jane he announced his decision. "Very well, I can see that it would make life easier for you but it does have to be for a few weeks only."

"Consider it a term fixed contract. Four weeks should be long enough."

"As long as I don't have to literally sign it in semen." Propping himself up on one elbow he brushed his fingers gently across her breasts as he continued, "Since it's a time limited agreement we probably need to make a start, so how about we build up an appetite for breakfast…" Pulling the sheets down to reveal his semi erect lower regions he took her hand to guide her, "At the moment this isn't quite long or hard enough so if you just…..

Blissfully he lay back to savour the results of Jane's first lesson - with her busy fingers she was bidding fair to be a potential A star student. As an activity it certainly beat his usual Saturday morning alternatives of either waiting for terrorists to make good their threats or scouring the shelves of his local Tesco tracking down meals for one.

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 _ **Many thanks for reading and if you have a moment please review,**_


	10. Chapter 10: Giles in Charge

**Thank you all who read the last chapter and especially to those who reviewed. The gap between posting chapters seems to be extending and for that I apologise but life at the moment is truly bonkers, not to say exhausting. Anyway for new we leave Harry to enjoy himself! and return to the Grid.**

* * *

 **But man, proud man**

 **Dress'd in a little brief authority**

 **Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd (Act 2 Sc 2 120-122)**

Outside the clouds were a louring grey as they continued to dispense an endless stream of hard hitting raindrops over the pavements, ultimately adding to the flow of a stormy river Thames. Despite this, and the unseasonable shivering thus produced, when set beside the ominous atmosphere inside the Section D Briefing Room the environs outside the eponymous headquarters of MI5 were balmy or even tropical in comparison.

Sitting on either side of the long table was the small select group that formed the Senior team, Zoe and Danny as field officers on one side and opposite the two desk officers, Malcolm and Ruth. The latter having finally been summoned to take part in her first major briefing. The great divide as represented down the table was more one of convenience and custom rather than indicative of any antagonism between the two categories of Grid personnel. If they had ever held any internal recriminations these had now been dispatched to history, the previous week having united the entire team in loathing the individual presiding from the chairman's seat. There, currently dominating proceedings, sat Giles, wearing a supercilious expression that matched his superior attitude. The team's general view that he had little to feel superior about was however a trifle unfair. Any dispassionate assessor would have unhesitatingly awarded Giles with a gold star for his success in achieving the ultimate aim of most managers, that of almost total staff cohesion. Virtually all the Grid habitués had hated him on sight and nothing had happened over the past few days to encourage a change of mindset. Now given the subject of the meeting; the operation that had gone belly up the previous evening in spectacular fashion, Giles, while all set to reprimand, was clearly rejoicing in the chance to chastise without fear of contradiction.

To Danny, as the lead officer on duty in the obbo van and therefore technically in charge of the resultant debacle, had fallen the unpleasant task of describing what had gone wrong and why. Not inclined to waste words, especially when fixed with the narrowed censorious eyes of Giles, he managed to precis a full four hour watching brief into a few bald sentences.

"Our asset, a Muslim youth code name Johnny, was wired to enable us to record the jihadi speeches of Mohammed Rashid. For reasons we can't ascertain he was detected and subsequently disciplined by being thrown out of the top window of the mosque onto the obbo van. The fall was fatal. We managed to drag his body into the van and were forced to drive away at top speed before the perpetrators poured out of the mosque."

Giles' face flickered with a look of almost triumph as he pointedly ignored Danny while enquiring smugly of Malcom, "Any evidence of electronic communication into the mosque."

Malcolm who could not tell a lie, although looking as if he wished otherwise, was forced to confirm. "None. We were unable to break the firewall in the time available, due I should add to notice of the operation being brought forward – a complication involving Six I was informed, and nothing detected in terms of mobile phones or networking contacts."

Considering that a man was dead, the mosque aware that it was now of interest to the security services, and a new route through which to infiltrate its machinations would now be required, Giles was looking unacceptably perky as he summed up.

"So this Section failed to manage a simple routine surveillance task. In the absence of any evidence to the contrary it would seem that someone must have leaked information to the mosque."

Zoe's indignant expression suggested that she was about to intervene but was halted by a slight shake of the head from Malcom, which did not go unnoticed by Giles,

"Quite correct Malcom. No acceptable excuse for this incompetence exists."

Leaning back in his chair he made his magisterial announcement, "It is clear to me that this Section is not fit for purpose." With a self satisfied smirk that made the entire team want to reach for a cricket bat, Giles' head would make a wonderful substitute for a ball, he announced, "That the staff under my command entirely lack any ability to work effectively is entirely due to the failures on the part your previous Section Head to either select or train component officers, with the possible exception of Malcolm."

Unsurprisingly Malcolm failed to look gratified by such a dubious endorsement, delivered by a self serving prat who had only a quarter of his experience and probably one fifth of his brains. Meanwhile the Briefing Room rang with a hot headed expostulation from Danny who somewhat less than politely reminded Giles, "You are only our acting Head. Harry is still our Section Head."

Giles sharply corrected him, "You will refer to your former Section Head as Mr Pearce not Harry, and I will be advising that he does not return given the shortcomings I have uncovered in this section. I am also giving formal notice that as none of you can provide a satisfactory explanation for the failure of the operation it is clear to me that there was some internal leak. You were either ignorant of this which is inexcusable, or have been actively covering it up which is even more unacceptable. Either way I will be invoking the protocol that places everyone on probation pending a full investigation."

Malcolm was suffering from two not necessarily conflicting emotions. The first was that his suspicions that Giles wanted to replace the existing staff with his own nominees had been correct, and given that they were stuck with him for the month the operation still had to run Harry's airy assurances re his return were about as useless as the much vaunted chocolate fireguard. The other was to wish that the world of James Bond's wasn't purely a film fiction – oh for a turbo charged ejector seat. Malcolm was so preoccupied fantasising about the delicious prospect of shooting Giles up through the roof of Thames House to land he knew not where, and didn't really care, that he'd completed screened out the discreet noise of Ruth's clearing her throat. That she'd actually made a sound at all was in itself something of a first. She'd spent the bulk of her working hours during the previous week head down, with her very remarkable grey blue eyes firmly fixed on the pixels of her computer screen, and while partaking of all necessary interactions with her colleagues had not exactly gone out of her way to mingle with the crowd. Not that Malcolm, something of a loner himself, blamed for her this, given that she was employed in a niche job that few really understood. Having seen the quality of her work he suspected that while producing outstandingly good links with obscure connections, several of which had already proved accurate, she'd also been assessing her co-workers with a view to to finding her own long term place within the Section D friendship groups. It was only now as she drew attention to herself that he realised that while Giles had been making his poisonous pitch for the long term ownership of Section D Ruth had been busying herself flicking through aspects of the CCTV feeds from the areas surrounding the mosque.

Giles was as astounded as anyone as he practically bawled, "Yes."

Even more surprising was the statement that Ruth made, her voice firm and confident, "I think I have an explanation for the so called failure."

The look Giles bestowed upon her was not exactly benign as he repetitiously snapped, "Yes."

His hostility either bypassed Ruth or she was ignoring him - Malcolm's money was on the latter assumption - as she responded in kind answering tersely, "Ramallah whispers."

In fairness Malcolm had to admit that Giles wasn't the only one to look mystified, for that matter her phrase only rang a vague bell in his own mind. Giles was a little less forbearing as, not appreciating having his critical thunder drawn, he almost snarled

"Kindly explain, including why you have interrupted me with information which, if accurate, should have been mentioned during the earlier deliberations."

Ruth's apology was a masterclass in the art of sounding sorrowful while not actually apologising, "Sorry, but this CCTV only reached us five minutes before you called us in. I had to check in case I was wrong since accuracy is paramount."

The final part of that statement was of course inarguable and left Giles with no room to exercise his superior referencing to internal rules. Needing to re assert himself the first part of her sentence had the effect of drawing the wrath of Giles upon Malcolm. "Malcolm kindly justify your reason for not showing the information to Miss Evershed prior to this meeting."

Malcolm who being well accustomed to dealing with the much more focussed and usually much more justified wrath of Harry remained fairly unmoved as he took pleasure in advising their glorious leader. "The CCTV was being held by Six, as they also have an interest. It was requested via the correct online form within an hour of Danny calling in the incident. I can confirm that it reached us just before the meeting and Ruth did not have time to analyse it in depth." Adding to Giles' agony by suggesting in a deceptively neutral tone, "Perhaps as the Acting Section Head seconded from Six you could have a word with your former colleagues."

Giles unwilling to admit to error turned towards Ruth as he demanded, "Your claims…"

Up until this point the team had regarded Ruth as somewhat retiring, suddenly with the floor before her and the knowledge that her expertise was all that stood between the team and ignominy she was presenting as an information rottweiller. It was the correct interpretation of her stance. Anyone at GCHQ could have told them that Ruth's desk persona masked a ferocious intelligence that was especially dangerous to those she regarded as an enemy, a category into which she had privately filed Giles on day two of her arrival. His lack of manners in failing to extend any formal greeting to her had not gone unnoticed. She may not have required, expected, or even wanted, a red carpet to be rolled out but Giles had signally failed to even summon up the welcome equivalent of drugget. While she'd been sitting quietly under the radar assessing the currents of her new work place alongside those drifting across her computer screen she'd have had to be blind, deaf and daft not to have realised that the rest of the team were being treated like kindergarten children, other than Malcolm who had what she suspected was the even less palatable task of acting as Giles' go between, Giles himself being too grandiose to venture onto the Grid floor during the working day. While she admittedly had not had the opportunity of comparing Giles' management style to that of still unmet Harry Pearce, the former had at least taken the trouble to contact her with some job information before she entered the Grid and express regret that they had yet to meet formally while Giles in contrast had yet to acknowledge her presence with any formal greeting. Even more damning Giles had not lost much time in deciding that Jed, whose attitudes seemed to be barely tolerated by most of the staff, was going to be his favoured spook and was continually calling him into the office and assigning him private missions, affording Jed the chance to preen with a self importance that set everyone else's teeth on edge. Consequently Ruth was more than willing to join the rest of the team in a passive disobedience and revel in the opportunity that had presented itself to rub Giles nose in his ignorance.

"I can show you, if Malcolm…" turning with a slight hesitation to her colleague she asked, "Can you put up the first section of the CCTV on the screen but slow it down for us?"

During the previous fifteen minutes Malcolm, for the first time in his MI5 career, had begun to understand why Harry took such almost malicious pleasure in deflating the pompous windbags who attempted to tell him how to do his job. Quietly rejoicing at the prospect of Ruth pulling a metaphorical carpet from under Giles' overly expensive shoes he simply nodded an acknowledgment as he busied himself with the task in hand. While Ruth walked confidentially towards the screen, those unusual eyes of hers flashing with determination, Zoe and Danny who'd previously been raging inwardly were now struggling to keep straight faces at the sight of Giles fuming at the abrupt removal of his commanding authority, which probably hurt all the more when his lead role had been usurped by someone who was a good couple of inches plus below average height. A small package definitely proving not a good thing for Giles.

The initial few frames, screened at a very slow speed that made watching paint dry look interesting, featuring indistinct figures lurking in the gloom of a London night was definitely not a BAFTA winning sight until the moment when Ruth interrupted this less than riveting show by crying, 'Halt'. Pointing towards the shadowy foremost figure in a freeze frame coloured with various shades of vibrant grey they were all instructed, "When Malcolm starts this again watch his fingers. On my nod Malcolm."

Had Ruth not halted the show for this moment of essential instruction they would all have failed to spot what she was indicating. The shadowy figure on whom their squinting attention was now riveted made the smallest of movements with his hands, literally blink and you'd miss it. Noting the Giles was about to explode at what he thought was a waste of time Zoe hastily intervened. "Er what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?"

Instead of taking umbrage Ruth smiled as she commented, "Now watch the next frame which comes from a camera about nine feet further up the road. See!"

And they all did; a further figure in slightly sharper focus than the first could be seen, now everyone had their eyes in, extending his hand outwards for a quick second during which he made a finger flick. Satisfied that the point had been grasped Ruth elucidated further, "Ramallah whispers, a signalling system, simple, practically unseen as they are experts at it, chaining from one person to the next. An entire code impossible for those outside to decipher."

With that she calmly moved away and resumed her seat beside Malcolm, bathed in telepathic thanks from her colleagues. Giles, although part of his case had vanished, was still fighting to maintain his position. "This changes nothing, details of the operation must have been leaked for them to know we were there."

Malcolm was ready to shoulder this not unreasonable objection. "I've just received a response to an email I sent as a routine check. The maintenance department forgot to fill the van up with petrol so instead of using our preferred supplier they went to a station about half a mile from the mosque carpark before they handed over to Danny. Can I suggest that they were detected there?" With inward glee he advised, "If you enact that protocol and we discover it was an administrative error from elsewhere it might look as if you were panicking, instead of taking a measured view of the operational failure."

Failing to detect any irony in Malcolm's mask like exterior, disguising that fact that inwardly his Senior techie was punching the air, Giles reluctantly conceded ground.

"Very well – you…" A direct glare at Ruth, "Will need to prepare a breakdown of your theory for file and further examination. Standard paperwork for the rest of you. Malcolm can you remain behind for a moment."

Thus bidden the other three departed onto the Grid with Zoe and Danny wanting to slap Ruth on the back but refraining after a simultaneously independent assessment that enraging Giles, however enjoyable, was a pleasure that it would be wise to defer. Once left alone with Malcolm Giles had no hesitation in revealing his anger.

"Malcolm I will not allow junior staff to undermine me. I had expected better of you. Please inform Miss Evershed that she does not interrupt me to argue about a decision. In the future I will not be so forgiving of insolence."

This man was unbelievable. Over in Six as a subordinate he had acquired a reputation for being rule bound but efficient. Now promoted into a position of authority that was, although he didn't know it, purely nominal, he was being revealed in his hidden colours as a power mad dictator. Even knowing that the current set up was precisely that, ie a set up, Malcolm, although normally the mildest of men as a rule, was experiencing grave difficulties in damping down his inner ninja. "Yes Sir, I will have a word with her." As Malcolm also rarely wasted his breath he suspended any further protests. Unbeknownst to Giles the Briefing Room was also secretly miked. If the charge of treason didn't stick, and Malcolm was waiting for Harry, - who'd seemed to be unexpectedly although not uncharacteristically elusive over the weekend - to report on his meeting with Jane, Giles' attitude to his staff would ditch forever his chance of promotion. The DG was not a favourite person in Section D but Malcolm did the much traduced individual the justice of knowing that as professional to his fingertips Dolby would by appalled firstly by Giles jumping to conclusions and then topping off his inaccurate assumptions by threatening to discipline a member of staff who was doing a brilliant job. Just as Malcolm reached the door Giles issued a further order. "Send Jed to my office, I need him to run an errand."

An ominous move, even if it did rid the Grid of Jed the pest for a couple of hours. Malcolm wordlessly departed out onto the Grid.

On the Grid Danny and Zoe were gathered around Ruth's computer gazing at the feed from yesterday's disaster. At Malcolm's approach Danny straightened up and smiled, "We're just admiring Ruth's brilliance." Zoe added in, "She's giving us a little on the job training on how to spot the whispers."

It was clear that after her performance in front of Giles any private reservations that Zoe and Danny might have had about their new analyst had dissipated and Ruth herself, now she had made a positive contribution, might look grave in the mouth but was sparkling with her eyes. Relieved that at least some of the Grid tensions were now disappearing Malcolm recalled other thorny problems as he hailed Jed. "You are required by Giles. He wants you to run an errand."

Jed grinned salaciously, "It'll probably be to ….. well shouldn't tell but .."

"Then don't," Danny snapped, "We'd rather not know what he does in his spare time."

Although not about to contradict this assertion Malcolm actually thought differently. What Giles was getting up to in all respects was of interest, but as the Section Head's office was also recording Giles supposedly private conversations he'd discover Giles' secret eventually. In the meantime, he supposed, as a matter of principle it wasn't a good idea to encourage Jed's sense of self importance or to imply that gossiping about the boss was acceptable. A decision that in some respects was a cause of regret, since anyone making smutty observations about Harry's private business would be measuring their time on the Grid in nanoseconds, assuming all the staff were still employed by the time Harry returned.

With Jed gone and Giles possibly distracted Malcom positioned himself with his back to the office window announcing in a grave tone, "I've been ordered to reprimand Ruth."

Danny and Zoe just about in chorus expostulated, "What," followed by Danny's "Come on Malcolm she's just saved all our hides, including that planks."

The twitch of grin was to be seen as Malcolm said, "I know but protocol must be followed."

Danny whose fury blocked his recognising the irony in Malcolm's tone continued to protest "Tell him where to stuff his …..oof" as he was silenced by a sly dig in the ribs from Zoe, who'd been rendered speechless herself by something unique in the annals of section D: a quick wink from Malcolm.

Ruth meanwhile was looking alarmed at the prospect of having upset Malcom, "I'm sorry…"

Only for Malcom to interrupt her, "Don't apologise Ruth. Danny and Zoe are correct so if you just stay where you and hold that contrite expression while I pretend to comply."

Suiting his action to his words he waved his finger for about a minute while Zoe and Danny also hastily turned their backs to the window. Giles might be distracted by Jed but it wouldn't do for him to see them laughing as Malcom accompanied his actions with the words, "If Giles asks for me remind him that I have a meeting scheduled with the working group this afternoon and have left to prepare."

That done Malcolm packed his briefcase, grabbed a laptop and departed on his secret mission to update the DG. Had he remained he'd have noted that Giles was gazing directly out of his office towards the work station that housed Ruth, his face decorated by loathing. After a second's thought Giles returned to his own desk, and hit his computer keyboard to type in a request to HR.

URGENT: Please send me a copy of Ruth Evershed's file."

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 ** _Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated_**


	11. Chapter 11: The Meetings

_**As usual my thanks to those who read and even more to those who took time to review. Time between posts seems to extending for which I apologise but don't see that improving in the near future. Anyway here for good for evil is the latest update.**_

* * *

 **There is our commission**

 **From which we would not have you warp (Act 1 Scene 1 l 13-14)**

Malcolm's opinion of Dolby's probable reaction to Giles' conduct in the Briefing Room proved correct. His report having taken place while seated in Dolby's office which, as befitted the DG's superior rank, was more comfortably furnished than Harry's, not that anyone invited into Harry's office was ever allowed much opportunity to sink their buttocks into a chair. A command to present oneself in front of Harry's desk usually being the precursor to said backside being well and truly kicked. After the tense morning he'd just about survived Malcolm accepted with gratitude the good coffee offered on his arrival, none of the instant poison usually provided at the Grid. Once more or less settled Malcolm had lost little time providing Dolby with the required debrief, before sitting back to sip his drink while watching the face of the DG morph from the neutral liniments of a manager who had heard it all into a totally appalled expression that reflected in double strength Malcolm's own views. Dolby and Harry may have a relationship that truthfully could be described as antagonistic, which Malcolm suspected was largely attributable to Harry's inevitable deluge of withering sarcasm when confronted with the latest management dictates delivered via the unfortunate Dolby. Despite this Dolby was realist enough to recognise and even appreciate that, despite Harry's multiple faults as a subordinate, it was an inescapable fact that under his tenure the clean up rate of Section D was exceptionally high. Also Harry, although utterly devoid of the more obvious diplomacy that was the essential requirement of the DG's post, was in his own unique left of field way a master tactician, being possessed in spades of the compensatory rare and delicate touch of knowing when precisely it was expedient to grant a favour and when to apply the pressure of calling one in. An important aspect of Harry's working practices of which Dolby, while gritting his teeth with gall, had been reduced to availing himself of on more occasions than he cared to count.

In all of this Malcolm's reasoning was, as ever, totally correct but, being a modest unassuming type, he would have been surprised to know that one of the main reasons underpinning Dolby's agreeing to Harry's latest plan, not to mention several earlier out of the box, ie utterly madcap maverick schemes, lay with Malcolm himself. Within the service Malcolm as a person, despite the dubious nature of his work related tasks which mostly revolved around the generic areas of unadmitted bugging, hacking and forgery, had become a byword for integrity, and that Harry, whose conscience that could at best be tactfully characterised as flexible, had been able to attach him as a loyal lieutenant said much about Harry. At the very least it did suggest that the latter, while not infrequently using antics that could be attributed to the devil, was actually on the side of the angels, as interpreted by the domestic security services.

Having processed Malcolm's report Dolby openly groaned as he informed him, "I can't obviously interfere due to the parameters of this authorised black operation." Having delivered up this oxymoron he continued, "However if Giles does dismiss any of the Section staff let me know." In a rare moment of honesty he commented, "Harry might be a maverick but he's not a megalomaniac." Endorsement ended he turned to the issue that had led to the secondment of the said megalomaniac, "The sooner we wrap up this operation the better, so please update me."

Malcolm, the man of few words, not unlike Harry in that he preferred action, the chief difference being that his world of trickery was almost entirely desk based, reached into his briefcase and produced a hefty and very official looking document which he handed to Dolby.

"This is the government proposition allegedly being circulated around selected interested parties on an 'eyes only' basis due to its controversial content." Although Dolby had already been appraised of Harry's outline plan he was still of the opinion that Malcolm's last sentence was a masterpiece of understatement. If the document had contained any shred of actual truth controversial was a mild description, incendiary, explosive or any related words would be nearer the mark, and with some recent government utterances the spoof plan was all too believable, as was the accompanying signed sheet already embellished with the ostensible signatures of the Prime Minister, Home Secretary, two appropriate departmental ministers and a pair of high ranking civil servants. Seeing the gap left for his own name Dolby sighed and picked up his pen querying in a wary voice, "I assume mine is the only non forged autograph." Completing with a flourish he added, "How fortunate Malcolm that you avoided a life of crime, the country might have been doomed."

Malcolm gave a slight smile as he reminded Dolby of a forgotten fact. "I doubt I could have outwitted Harry for long."

A happily avoided scenario that made Dolby blench, his head of Counter Terrorism, the best field officer of his generation versus the most skilled STO in the service. Shuddering at that thought, which made he return rapidly to the slightly more pleasant present Dolby leaning back into his chair asked sharply, "The timetable for this handover – do you have one?"

Malcolm was unable to be exact beyond saying, "The document will be passed to Giles sometime this week."

"Why the delay?" Dolby demanded being desperately of the view that the sooner this situation was resolved the better. Malcolm divining his thought was in complete agreement, but native caution combined with his greater knowledge of Harry's plan meant that delay was inevitable and restraint had to exercised, as he tried to explain,

"Before we can go proceed we need to infiltrate ' _Touchstones_ ' and re direct their data via a more sophisticated version of the 'Man in the middle' hack. Unfortunately with their state of the art firewalls it has to be done via an internal computer. That means getting someone inside."

Dolby didn't quite follow this reasoning, "But surely you are tracking Giles via the Grid?"

"Yes but we need a complete picture, for example will he proffer the information voluntarily or will he have to be contacted and coerced? For that we need to know if he delivers the message to ' _Touchstones'_ to be relayed to Gavrik in Russia, or alternatively if Gavrik in Russia sends one of his employees to coerce Giles." Dolby while nodding still felt that a piece was missing in the jigsaw as he asked,

"Assuming that Giles is the sole leak and is responding to coercion how will the Russian end know about this to secret document since it is confined to myself, you, Harry and, I assume, Connie James and Alec White. " The slightly ruffled tone in which Dolby referred to this last pair indicative of his disapproval of their involvement, not entirely unjustified in one who had been privy to the decomissioning details of both. As Malcolm was well aware on those happy occasions Dolby had been forced to met both soon to be ex spooks personally. Alec, drunk of course, had chosen to celebrate their parting with an invective ridden rant which included a few anatomically impossible suggestions and some interesting theories respecting Dolby's filial relationship with his mother. Connie in contrast had just inflicted her gorgon glare upon him, an exercise of iron self control that Dolby had found even more unnerving from one who had an in depth knowledge of the more reprehensible service secrets. Given that latter consideration Malcolm had long since conceded, albeit privately, that Harry's insistence upon Connie remaining loosely attached to the service had been wise. At least this way they'd managed to keep tabs on her during her enforced retirement.

Malcolm therefore while understanding Dolby's reasoning opted to ignore the latter's perceived dislike of Harry's private contractors, "Once we are set up at _'Touchstones_ ', and that is in hand, we'll be ready to go. The plan is to give Giles two or three days and see how he jumps. If he makes the move we'll know, if however he is responding to pressure the plan is to drop the hint via one of Connie James' assets, she still has some sleepers in Russia." Malcolm wasn't about to mention that it was one of Connie's contacts who was tracking the family of Serge with a view to them adding to the UK migrant flow in a few weeks time.

"And supposing Gavrik isn't interested?"

Malcolm while sympathising with Dolby thus far was now becoming just a tad irritated as he asked in an even tone, "Do you really think that this represents an opportunity that Ilya Gavrik and his friends in the alleged Russian democracy would pass up?"

Dolby gave in, he'd already had this conversation with Harry and the latter had come well primed with facts, figures and sufficient details of shady business deals to keep the Fraud Squad in work for the rest of the millennium, if it hadn't been that Harry preferred to park this information for his own later nefarious usage. Not wanting to surrender easily however he requested, "Hand me that document and I'll speed read it, assuming you have time to wait."

Malcolm had no problems with that as he informed Dolby, "I'll use the laptop as I need to produce some documents relating to this fictitious committee, just in case Giles makes a request." As Dolby prepared to state the obvious Malcolm accounted for this statement. "I know it's meant to be top secret but it would be wise to have something in the electronic ether – if it ends up hacked by our enemies all it will do is confuse them, and that will help us trace some useful networks." As he spoke it occurred to him that Harry on his return might just dust off that idea, in the unlikely event of them ever enjoying a quiet moment. It would be a more gainful leisure occupation than watching the flapping of pigs wings.

For the next hour peace descended, broken only by the steady taping of Malcolm on the laptop keyboard and the odd rustle of paper as Dolby worked his way through a weighty quasi report designed to trap a spy. As he turned the last page he put the papers together, checked they were in order and handed them back to Malcom with an approving sentence, "I'm convinced that it's the truth and I know it's a fake!"

Before Malcolm could reply Dolby remembering an earlier conversation asked, "The first leak, you thought you had a lead – anything in it?"

Malcolm was for once unable to give a direct answer, "Harry was working on it. I don't know the exact details but he sent me a quick text to say he thought we could make the charge stick."

Knowing Harry Dolby reckoned that was good enough even if he did have to ask, "When will you have definite confirmation?"

With a quick look at his watch Malcolm informed him, "I'm meeting Harry in about an hour for a mutual update."

Dolby nodded approvingly. "Good." Before adding with a hint of a smile, "In view of what you've reported about Giles I never thought I'd say this, but tell Harry we need him back PDQ."

* * *

After the near cloudburst of the morning the late teatime early evening sky had cleared, allowing Harry, casually suited, designer stubbled, complete with shaded glasses covering his green contact lenses, to loiter in a reasonable degree of comfort on a public bench placed midway between the National Theatre building and the Millennium Bridge. Ostensibly reading, he was in fact savouring the mellow glow cast by the slowly sinking sun over the dome of St Paul's proudly etched against the darkening golden skyline of the opposite bank. Sadly though, even as he took in the glint of the Thames and the call of the odd seabird flying inwards from the lower estuaries, he knew that his presence here was solely due to work purposes. If his eyes were supposedly wandering vaguely across the picture postcard sight before him his mind was fully occupied in wondering what was taking place within Section D. Although he had seemingly brushed away Malcolm's concerns Harry was in fact seriously considering the possibility that for once he'd over reached himself and put his entire section into peril. Self exiled from the Grid he was therefore awaiting Malcolm's arrival with more than his customary impatience, even if current circumstances were imposing upon him the need to persevere a patina of nonchalance that implied that he was a man who spent so much of his time chilling it required a crane to force him into a horizontal position.

As ever in London you were never alone, although being lonely was a different matter. Normally at this time of day the crowds along this section of the river would be thinning, day tourists on limited train returns would be heading for the rail stations, those leaving work would more likely make their way to the tube stations that book ended Westminster, Southwark and St Paul's, and it was a little too early for the theatre crowds, although Harry did clock the odd arty individual passing by to pay homage to the concrete stack that housed the National Theatre company. He took a particular dislike to one self important personage loudly proclaiming his views on Shakespeare to the world at large, as if the world was interested, which it wasn't. Aware that Malcolm, usually the most punctilious of men, was late, Harry pulled out his phone to check but no enlightenment was displayed amongst its pixels. He almost sighed. If the last few days had taught him anything, while he welcomed, indeed had seized the opportunity to dust off his rapidly atrophying field skills he'd also begun to realise just how much of his life was meshed into work. Personal introspection wasn't a habit of Harry's but it was on evenings like this that he occasionally realised that the Grid whispered jibe that he didn't get out enough was fully justified. No family, no relationship – Jane didn't count, that was strictly a business arrangement – but the last couple of days with her had reawakened his often quashed thought that it would be nice to have a special someone he could relax with. What did he have to look forward to at the end of the working day? If he was really lucky a working evening, togged up in a dinner suit pressing the flesh of individuals whom, if personal choice was allowed, he'd much prefer to consign to a sack, bricks and the river currently flowing in front of his eyes: so in fact not much at all. Aware that he was straying into the territory of the overly maudlin, after all he had an interesting job, financial security and crucially, given the risky nature of his work, he was still alive. It was therefore with great relief that he became aware of another body silently slipping into place on the bench end. Looking around casually, caution was reminding him of his last companion on a bench, the would be seducer of Parliament Hill, he was grateful to see that the new arrival was indeed Malcolm. Not about to disgorge his earlier private musings, Harry Pearce didn't do needy, emoting was strictly for the professional luvvies who inhabited this theatre quarter. The only way Harry Pearce would ever spill his guts was if he was shot, and he'd spent a lifetime ensuring that his various enemies were denied that satisfaction. Acknowledging his friend with a nod he enquired,

"Held up by the DG I assume."

Malcolm, whose emotion on seeing Harry apparently relaxed and carefree, was sufficiently narked to indulge in the unusual action of defending the DG, "He needed a full report and he does have cause for concern especially with Giles' behaviour on the Grid."

A slight rise of Harry's eyebrows indicated that elucidation was required and after the events of the morning Malcolm was more than willing to outline the recent ramifications of the situation Harry had almost deliberately dumped them in.

Harry listened gravely until Malcolm finished describing Giles' pique at being bested by Ruth as he commented with a twitch, "So it was worth skipping the probationary period then. I look forward to meeting her, but really what was Giles thinking…."

Malcolm who'd had a long and extraordinarily trying day skimming the shoals of the internal work dynamics and politics presented by operation 'Sink Giles', both of which normally rested was well outside his comfort zone of technical skills, while Harry had, he assumed spent a relaxing day in Serge's flat, almost snapped, "Because he doesn't - think I mean."

Faced with appealing prospect of an evening spent disentangling the results of the various electronic communications, which would in all probability require him to burning the midnight oil and beyond, Malcolm failed to appreciate Harry's continuing merriment. Consequently his tone turned almost frigid as he informed his boss. "When Dolby is actually praising you and wants you back the situation in Section D is serious."

Harry, while chuckling at this last statement, at least recognised that he was in danger of alienating his most reliable lieutenant, as he made an attempt at contrition. "Agreed, that does make the situation serious, however at least Alec has managed to find a route into ' _Touchstones'_ and may be compromising their computers as we speak."

Malcolm wasn't so easily mollified, "It would have been useful to know that when I met Dolby. I did try to contact you over the weekend."

Harry's apology was limited in detail as he unblushingly told Malcolm a précised truth, "Sorry about that – I was fully occupied trying to find the truth behind the first leak via Jane Townsend. In the course of my investigation something came up."

Harry could only hope that Malcolm didn't ask exactly what had come up – Harry himself, considering he's spent a large proportion of the weekend in bed was feeling quite exhausted. Jane as a good business woman having made sure that she got, if not her money's worth at least an adequate payment in kind. By the end of Sunday Harry had taken to wondering if it was possible for a penis to become worn out.

Malcolm as it happened was more interested in the operational details as he returned to the question posed a few days ago, "So was Ms Townsend complicit or duped?"

"Duped. She takes work home, with consent I should add, and she's entirely unware that she was used. However the delightful behaviour you described on the Grid also translates into Giles' behaviour outside. I overheard him being very unpleasant to her and now she's out for revenge and is going to act as an asset."

Malcolm was intrigued, "But surely we know what he's up to."

"Yes but although we are primarily concerned with national security if he's getting access to business agreements then the Gavrik tentacles could extend ever further."

With the reference to Gavrik threading back to long standing rumours concerning Harry's dealings with the latter's deceased girlfriend Malcolm was suddenly developing a few acute suspicions as to how exactly Harry had converted Jane into an asset but held his tongue. As a well brought up son of the manse Malcolm had long since accepted that with regard certain areas of spook activity, including Harry's private life, it was better to encapsulate the attitudes of the three wise monkeys within his individual person. Besides he had more pressing concerns,

"So when do I release this document," patting his laptop case as he did so, "to Giles." Malcolm had tried to sound neutral but a certain air of desperate impatience was beginning to flavour his words.

Harry could understand the problem as he tried to soothe his much tried techie, "As soon as Alec lets me know he's managed to infiltrate and you can confirm that the computer from ' _Touchstones_ ' is streaming to you." Seeing Malcolm nod Harry continued with tidings of comfort if not exactly of joy, "Once that's in place release the document to Giles, we'll give him a few days, and if he doesn't jump then Connie will make her pitch. I'd estimate about three weeks to wrap up."

Not a moment too soon in Malcolm's opinion but before he could comment further a musical voice broke across their conversation,

"Hello Malcolm, I thought you were meeting with the DG." The disapproving expression on the face of the speaker as she cast her eyes over Harry implying that if he was the DG then she was the Queen of England.

Harry skulking apprehensively behind his green contact lenses was trying to hide his alarm. Suddenly the disguise that had provided adequate cover since he'd vanished from the Grid was threatened from an unanticipated quarter. The speaker might not recognise him, but he certainly knew of her from a file photograph and latterly from Malcolm's reports promulgating the view that no secret stood a chance when she was on the case. Standing in front of him, while she was fully occupied in chastising Malcolm as a liar, Harry Pearce with his real life persona concealed inside a legend, was taking in his first sight of Ruth Evershed in the flesh.

* * *

 _ **Many thanks for reading and if you have a moment please review. I may not respond quickly as I will be away for a few days and minus a computer. I've avoided the tablet's predictive text ever since the occasion when I gave Nates Dates an 'off' review instead of the praise intended.**_


	12. Chapter 12: Deception with Intent

**_Apologies to my readers for the delay in publishing this chapter - my only excuse is that it was longish and tricky to write. Thanks for your patience and many thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter._**

* * *

 **Why I desire thee**

 **To give me secret harbour hath a purpose**

 **More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends**

 **Of burning youth (Act 1 Sc 3 lines 3-6)**

* * *

No sooner had the words unthinkingly flown out Ruth's mouth than she realised she was treading on very dangerous ground. After all it wasn't for her to criticise Malcolm, much less accuse him of lying. Had she not been so self absorbed she might have noticed the slight flicker of alarm in Malcolm's eyes, not to mention the certain air of apprehension with which he glanced as his unknown companion. Being more experienced spooks and as a consequence infinitely better liars, the two guilty men recovered their poise more quickly than Ruth.

Malcolm, well aware that at present technically he wasn't answerable to anyone other than the DG and Giles, thought that it advisable to offer Ruth an explanation of his seeming dereliction of duty. He wasn't activated by any concern that she'd be galloping into Giles' office prior to disburden herself of back stabbing tittle tattle, she'd bonded too thoroughly with the well established senior team for that to be a serious possibility. With the probable exception of Jed the only words any of the Grid staff, let alone the major officers, would voluntarily drop into Giles' earhole would be along the lines of ' _Goodbye not nice to have known you'_. What concerned Malcolm was that after a week spent mentoring Ruth he was beginning to understand the working of her mental processes, a major feature of which was that when presented with any detail, however minuscule, that seemed out of place she'd take it as a cue to gnaw way at until the jigsaw fitted. And currently his presence on the South Bank was a detail that when unravelled and placed would lead directly to the huge monolith that was Harry Pearce in disguise. However much discretion Ruth might be exercise throughout any covert investigation, the merest slip, a scrappy note or odd seemingly disconnected enquiry could alert Giles to something fishy in the ether, whereupon he would undoubtedly hot foot it in the general direction of his political friends. Even if the DG avoided being dragged into the subsequent scandal Section D would be destroyed, leaving Giles left utterly untouchable and gloating, possibly even heading up a reformed Section D. Not if Malcolm could help it. That risk had to be headed off before it even had a chance to spring into existence, so availing himself of the legend he'd so lovingly crafted for Harry, before he'd set out to meet Jane accidently on purpose, Malcolm gave Ruth a tight smile as he informed her,

"I did indeed meet with the DG but I also had an off the diary meeting with this gentleman, who is a private contractor who undertakes odd tasks for Harry." Accompanied by a wave of his hand he indicated Harry who had stood up the instant Malcom was accosted and was now making a stab at shifty anonymity by casting his eyes downwards as Ruth swept a brief professionally apprising gaze in his direction before turning her attention back to Malcolm. Her face still stamped with an expression that demanded further enlightenment beyond that sketchy justification, even in her questioning statement smacked of uncertainty, "Err private contractor?"

Malcolm was at least on surer ground here, he did after all do the bulk of Harry's screening and hacking both authorised or unauthorised, although he often preferred to remain in ignorance of the actual tasks given to contractors. Thankfully those were usually secrets known unto Harry alone, a fact for which Malcolm was deeply grateful since the ramifications of secrecy pertaining to the current black operation could well strain his conscience to near breaking point, and in this instance he felt able endorse without reservation the motives and consequent actions required to skewer the obnoxious Giles.

"Sometimes Ruth we employ outside services for tasks when we can't justify the use of Grid time, for example the tracking of vague suspects or infiltration of places where these individuals already have an access that it would take us months to arrange." After the day he'd just enjoyed, not, Malcolm was sufficiently emboldened to take a mild revenge on Harry as he further informed Ruth her features were now arranged in an expression of downright disapproval, "I agree this sounds as dubious as the individuals we employ, but they are a necessary evil". As he uttered those last two words Malcolm realised that he'd just inadvertently summed up the opinion that most of the security service echelons privately held in respect of Harry.

The necessary evil, who'd been forced into method acting his role as a silent cipher, was making the most of an unexpected opportunity to assess his most recent member of staff, currently standing with three quarters of her body turned away from him. Basically she'd come as something of a shock. Her clothing -what could be seen beneath the heavy coat more suited to winter than late spring – consisted of a long full skirt sporting a slightly bedraggled fringed hem while her throat was accessorised by a long floating scarf. Taken in conjunction with the unstyled hair that positively shrieked the message that its owner was not overly concerned with personal appearance, the overall impression conveyed was one of mildly tatty droop, redolent of inefficiency and damped down Bohemian. Close your eyes however and the Oxford cadences interrogating Malcom implied an entirely different personality, one very closely akin to the highly efficient Connie - was this intonation, Harry wondered, an analysts thing. Viewing Ruth from yet another standpoint he could appreciate immediately why Malcolm approved of her, like Malcolm she was an unexpected type for entrée to Section D and therefore something of a kindred spirit.

Much of this rippled through Harry's subconscious, his most pressing concern being to match the persona that Malcolm had gifted him with, ' _necessary evil'_ indeed – he'd have his revenge; surveillance of the Women's Institute acting on obscure rumours that subversion had reached the world of jam and Jerusalem. In the here and now however it was of paramount importance that his cover wasn't blown. Much as it went against his control freak grain he had to stand aside and pass command to the trustworthy Malcolm. In fact Harry forced into subordination was sending up reluctant thanks that his own tendency to risk was so often counterbalanced by his techie's caution. In this instance, prior to the faked statement that Harry was ensconced in some high security hospital, Malcolm had insisted on redacting Harry's personnel file in line with the DG's announcement that he was under very secure guard. Not content with that immediate defence he'd even gone to what had seemed like the excessive length of swapping Harry's more recent photograph with one of his younger self, a relic of an age when he had been the proud possessor of rather more hair and fewer wrinkles. An action Malcolm had justified on the grounds that if Giles did manage, by some fluke, to acquire access it might prevent him from recognising the disguised Harry, in the unlikely event of them meeting during the operation. It was a precaution that had proved its worth a couple of days ago and that same argument would of course apply to Ruth with bells on since, if she was even half as good as Connie, no database would be proof against her skills.

Malcolm having delivered a reason to circumvent Ruth's possible imaginings followed up with what, for him, was a form of attack. A long submerged skill that was rapidly being honed to a necessary perfection given the experiences of the last few days. On the basis that fair exchange was required and sensing from her demeanour that Ruth thought she might have dropped something of a clanger in confronting him he enquired, "Isn't this a little off your usual way home Ruth."

It wasn't precisely a question but Ruth, already made nervous by the thought that she'd probably broken protocol by confronting Malcolm in front of an asset, a person who presumably was kept at arm's length from the machinations of Section D, held up a small handful of flyers embellished with the National Theatre logo.

"Since I've moved to London I thought I might take advantage…." Scanning the area before very pointedly nodding her head in the direction of the idling Harry she added quietly, "Actually Malcolm I'd like to have a word with you off the Grid. I've discovered something and I'm not sure….…er well but it is confidential."

So absorbed was she in her own stumbling anxieties she entirely failed to notice the very infinitesimal glance of alarm that passed swiftly between the two men. Nor was she near enough to either detect the dual thudding of hearts as they both contemplated, for the second time in three minutes, the risky prospect of discovery.

Ruth accompanying of the word confidential with a not tremendously subtle intimation that Harry should vanish was not lost on Mr Incognito. While mentally applauding her discretion in keeping the secrets of the security service a secret, unnecessary as it happened but then she didn't know she was standing beside her boss incognito, Harry trusted that this was not a typical example of her field skills. If so she'd just flagged up a training need, before she got them all killed.

Malcolm in contrast was experiencing a hidden sense of relief. Ruth had inadvertently given him an excuse to shoo Harry away without arousing suspicion in her over active mind that he was trying to get rid of his companion for any other reason. In an unmistakable tone of dismissal, while completely ignoring Ruth, he informed his superior, "Well I think we've concluded our business. I'll contact you through the usual channels."

Few would have dared speak to Harry in this way in real life and, while through operational necessity Harry was obliged to tug a metaphorical forelock and comply, as he removed himself he wasn't enjoying the experience in the slightest. Although his face and body language matched the role Malcolm had assigned to him, his mind was revising the earlier revenge plans. Scrub the Women's Institute, Malcolm was destined for pantomime surveillance, consisting of endless matinees of lame jokes and screaming children extending over a six week period. Never mind ' _oh no he wasn't'_ Harry would being sticking with _'oh yes he was._ '

Malcolm noting that Harry had drifted away along embankment in the opposite direction to Thames House waved Ruth into the vacated bench seat saying, 'Now that we are alone…"

If uttered any other male this might have been interpreted as a cheesy chat up line but Ruth, as she settled herself in a close but body space respecting distance, was oblivious to any such nuance as she tried to marshal her thoughts into words. Malcolm knew the value of patience so he sat back watching Ruth squirm until she eventually managed to start a faltering sentence "I'm not sure that I should be telling you this but…" Anxious to establish some ethical credibility she excused herself in advance by saying "I didn't set out to spy". Sensing Malcolm's mouth beginning to twitch she realised what she'd said and sank further into embarrassment, "I meant on a colleague and…" She halted again. Despite his preference to let her disburden herself in her own time now that the sun was sinking the previous warmth of the day was cooling, and Malcolm was no great lover of the cold. Not wanting to freeze into a statute he soothed her.

"I'm sure you didn't, so Ruth just tell me, what is troubling you?"

Squaring her shoulders as if going into battle Ruth managed to stutter a couple of words containing a major clue, "It's Jed." A statement that made Malcom reflect that on the Grid is frequently was, as he listened to her continuing. "I'd stayed a little later than usual as I was down in the Registry – I'm still trying to master the filing system – and when I came back all the staff who work in our part of the Grid had gone." She paused for a further moment and then continued very quietly as if ashamed, "I had some documents that needed to passed to Jed so I went over to his desk. He'd left an email on his screen and… well…. I read it… I know I shouldn't have but…"

Malcolm understood her shame but reassured her, "Ruth that's human nature. Am I correct in thinking the contents disturbed you."

Ruth sighed, "Yes- you see it was to an escort agency. It seems one of the girls was complaining…" The next words came at a rush as if Ruth was afraid her mouth was about to become polluted, "She'd complained that Jed hadn't used a condom and wanted him to take a paternity test. Jed was replying that if she continued with this…well basically he was threatening that his boss would take action that she wouldn't like."

That Jed, despite his endless boasting of more conquests than Casanova, had ultimately been paying for it came as no great surprise to Malcolm, a man who, while something of sexual recluse on a personal level, had a whole wealth of observations to draw upon. What did astound him was Jed's stupidity in using the Grid network to issue warnings that by any standard reeked of intimidation, although, remembering the endless cosy conferences held between Jed and Giles it was possible this email had been sent with Giles blessing. Recalled the issue at ' _Touchstones',_ quite possibly with Giles blessing. When virtually all the Grid staff to a man and woman had made it plain that they were less than admiring of both Giles' person and his management style endorsing Jed's equally obnoxious attitudes would be an simple means of obtaining a pet spy on the Grid. Jed was too stupid to realise he was being used. As for their personal morals, they were less birds of feather, but more snakes in the grass. Confirmation of this theory would be easy. With the entrapment monitoring processes set in place, of which Ruth and all other staff were ignorant, Malcolm, and by extension Harry would know soon enough who was advising who about what. For now with Ruth's uncertain gaze fixed upon him Malcolm needed to respond.

"You were right to pass this on Ruth." With unusual emphasis for Malcolm he advised her for future reference. "NO officer should use his position in in this way and no senior officer would or should authorise such actions."

Ruth seemed uncertain as she ventured, "But Mr Pearce ..well some…" then she remembered the gossip that Malcolm wasn't just a colleague, outside the constraints of the Grid he was also Harry's friend.

Malcolm cut abruptly across her tremulous protest, "I can assure you that whatever you may have heard in respect of Harry's reputation he would never condone such actions."

Ruth wasn't quite so certain, perhaps Malcolm was protesting too much,"But I've been told by several people that he's quite unscrupulous."

Outright denial of that assertion was of course impossible. Nonetheless Malcolm attempted to clarify this not entirely untrue position to the Grid rookie. "On occasion yes, but only in defence of the nation, or in the interests of maintaining the Grid's efficiency. This incident is unlikely to qualify on either ground." Noticing that she was still uneasy he assured her, "I'll look into it and see what can be done, if someone is suspect I can probably pass it on to a private contractor to investigate."

Feeling that he'd said enough Malcolm terminated the conversation by standing up, gathering his laptop and briefcase as he advised her, "I'm returning to Thames House to check some data…and you Ruth?"

A relieved Ruth smiled at him, "Heading to the Globe and then home to work out what I want to see, assuming the tickets are available and affordable."

With that they parted on their separate and friendly ways.

* * *

Harry himself hadn't immediately headed back to his current domicile. While his personal life in his own home was equally solitary at least the space was furnished with his own possessions. Stuck in Serge's flat he was denied his usual solace for the stresses of the day; music from his state of the art sound system or, if particularly nostalgic for that long ago era when he had possessed a circle of friends and a brother, a twirl of his LPs, or black discs as he believed they were referred to these days. Reluctant to return to his temporary exile, while knowing he had to, he was teaching himself the noble art of procrastination as represented by his by loitering against the black painted iron rails overlooked a paved walkway that then fell away to the sides of riverbank. As parts of the self absorbed world walked by Harry was casually watching the Thames as it flowed its lazy way under the Millennium bridge journeying downstream toward the coastal estuary. He'd removed the eye shades, they might aid his disguise but with the approach of nightfall they also impeded his vision, and the chances of any of his acquaintance sauntering along the Southbank at this time of the evening were minimal. With the sun sinking behind St Paul's it wouldn't be long before the last of the tourist boats with their on going commentaries that now floated in front of his unfocused eyes docked for the night, giving place to the brightly lit party cruisers of the evening whose echoes of noisy carousing would across the broad expanse of the river by night. Staring across at nothing in particular Harry was reviewing the worrying events Malcolm had described on the Grid. His private dislike of Giles was developing with every extra smidgeon of information that came forth. If the wart couldn't be removed legally Harry would feel forced to contemplate the possibility of arranging an unfortunate accident. Admittedly it wouldn't be the first time he'd done so, his hands and soul were hardly sparkling white, grubby grey was nearer the mark, but his own ethical standards prohibited him from taking action on purely personal grounds. Oh well he'd make a decision if the case against Giles remained unproven, for now he'd return to his temporary residence via the long route, starting with a walk across the Millennium bridge, followed by a stroll to the Tower area, a circular tour of St Katherine's dock and only then take the tube back towards the flat. Urgency was not, for once in his life, a requirement, he had nothing to hurry back for other than a good night's sleep, which would be welcome after the exertions of the weekend. Jane's horizontal education having been suspended for a few days as she'd been dragged away on a business trip with her boss, 'school security' she'd said. He'd been surprised sat that news but when he'd expressed the view that the contract seemed rather small beer she'd smiled pityingly and explained to his ignorance that small contracts helped to build up a portfolio and were the essential ballast to the more showy assignments. So no Jane and as the scheme to ensnare Giles was still on the drawing board, or more accurately in Malcolm's briefcase, he was unlikely to receive any demands from Ilya Gavirk. Straightening himself up he began to move towards the bridge, merely glancing at the white painted circular façade of the Globe theatre. The surrounding space occupied only by a few passer-bys and the odd tourist snapping a shot of the exterior, not exactly deserted but sufficiently quiet for a lone skater boarder to be chancing his arm by skimming his way through the area. As the youth approached Harry he seemed to lose command of his shoddy vehicle making a swerve that forced Harry into jumping aside to avoid being mown down. Turning to shout a piece of his mind at the retreating figure he saw that another individual had been less fortunate. Having been just clipped as the board rider powered past her, she was now staggering, releasing a flurry of leaflets into the air as she struggled to keep her balance before finally crashing down onto the unyielding pavement.

Seeing her sprawled and winded Harry almost sprinted to the rescue as he grabbed hold of her arm saying,"Steady now. Sit up slowly." As he did so it rippled through his mind that there was something vaguely familiar about the build and clothing of the woman he was clutching. A suspicion confirmed when the individual having pushed herself upright, thereby allowing him to release his grip, turned to utter some heartfelt thanks, only for her words, "Thank you Mr…" to peter out as a similar recognition occurred to her.

As became a senior spook Harry was the quicker to recover from the shock as he managed to say evenly, "Think nothing of it…Miss er…" eliding his syllables as he recalled that as Malcolm's erstwhile private contractor they'd not been formerly introduced to her and therefore he was in supposed ignorance of her full identity "Ruth, I think Malcolm said." Neither was now quite sure how to proceed, Ruth because her rescuer seemed to an individual who presumably she should be keep at the length of a ten foot barge pole while Harry, also finding the situation somewhat bizarre, was helped out when the slightly gusting breeze blew a leaflet across his feet reminding him of her reason for being on the river bank. Leaving Ruth to recover herself he busied himself picking up the rather aptly named and now crumpled flyers that remained in reach.

Handing them back to Ruth who was still looking a little wobbly, she had gone down with quite a crash, he commented, "I assume that you were planning to collect some publicity from the Globe." Before she could confirm or deny this supposition he added, "You still seem shaken so can I suggest you allow me to escort you into the foyer. They have a snack bar and I think they are still serving coffee."

Ruth, having struggled and lost the battle to keep her physical balance was now struggling and losing the mental war against herself. The man was dubious and yet, he didn't seem to be pressing any advantage and the look in those strangely compelling green eyes that she didn't really dare met outright was, as far as she could tell, kindly rather than predatory. He'd correctly divined her reason for being here and really what harm could a coffee do, in truth she was thirsty after her walks and a little tired. But who exactly was he and should she as a member of the MI5 even contemplate accepting an invitation, however chivalrous the intent from a strange man, although he was known to Malcolm so she had been given some slight formal introduction to him. Beside surely Harry Pearce, if what Malcom had just told her was correct, would never employ someone who was actually a danger to national security, or was she just being naïve. She was so very new to all of this and so very keen to make the right impression on a Section Head she had yet to meet.

Watching her hesitate Harry was fairly sure he knew what she was thinking. He'd already noted her caution in the first encounter, his legend was almost certainly the problem, and yet now he'd been presented with an unlooked for chance to get to know a member of his staff without the barrier of bossdom he was reluctant to let her go. If he was honest at the very least a quick drink would postpone his return to an empty and increasingly unappealing flat. It was a risk but clearly she had bought Malcolm's story. Not wanted to unsettle her he was studiously trying to avoid staring as he murmured encouragement.

"If you're worried about Harry Pearce let me assure you I know him very well and he'd not object to you accepting a drink from me." To provide further incentive he added. "I promise not to ask about your job."

If he hadn't entirely won her over Ruth was wavering. "I suppose that would be alright although I will have to declare this to Malcolm tomorrow." The unfazed expression with which this was greeted decided her.

As if by unspoken joint agreement they proceeded together to climb the steps, Harry taking Ruth's elbow gently in his hand to support her as she stumbled slightly, releasing her as they reached the top and allowing her to precede him into the foyer where Ruth headed to the box office as a precursor to a lengthy conversation with the girl on duty which ,as far as Harry could tell, concerned the advisability of booking and times. Normally this type of delay would make him impatient but Harry was rather savouring the unusual experience of visiting a major tourist as a private individual, normally he entered such precincts as a spy searching out trouble. His knowledge of the café owing to his professional knowledge since, like most buildings in London, he was very aware of every nook and cranny that could provide opportunity for the lawless. The Globe was a building of particular interest, being the venue to which foreign dignitaries were frequently brought to sample some authentically native English culture. Watching Ruth enthusing he was reminded of a comment once made to him at some event or another by a prominent theatre director, "The RSC's favourite venue in early eighties was Newcastle upon Tyne, there they were sure of having a mainly English audience to understand the play." Before adding with just a hint of patronage, "Shame the actors had problems understanding the Geordies."

Sensing from the words drifting over to him, he wasn't consciously eavesdropping, that Ruth was in the process of terminating the conversation and anxious to avoid giving her any opportunity for second thoughts to intrude he wandered over to her, handing some leaflets he'd picked out from the racks with the suggestion, "More for the collection." As Ruth made to stuff them all into her capacious hand bag he enquired, "And your coffee preferences, plus knowing the hours you work would it sound presumptuous if I bought you a sandwich?"

Ruth didn't exactly answer but moving in the direction indicated made a study of the eatables on sale and having indicated her choice, cake rather than sandwiches, went to a seat tucked away at the back but, as Harry noted to his amusement, in a position that had excellent eye line to anyone entering the area, although escape might have been more difficult. Still she seemed to have absorbed some security essentials, which did confirm that despite her personal appearance the woman wasn't just highly intelligent she also possessed a practical streak with it. That was something to be grateful for. Since Harry had suffered over the years with educated idiots with no grasp of the real world, most of them politicians or policy makers, he could do without them populating the Grid. Jed, who couldn't realistically lay claim to more than one brain cell, was trial enough. A duff choice forced upon him by Human Resources, or as Harry referred to them, the Human Useless Department, since when he'd ignored their professional advice in favour of good old gut instinct, hence the appointment of the diffident analyst he was now wining and dining on the cheap.

As it happened precautions were not required as they were the only persons present. As they settled to their coffee and cake Ruth opted to remove her heavy coat, revealing a dull red coloured blouse whose lowish neckline was softened by a necklace that seemed to be composed chiefly of glass scraps that twinkled as they caught the light. Harry admitted that he was becoming increasingly intrigued by this latest addition to his staff. Bright, cautious, mildly attractive in an unobtrusive way – those were qualities he'd expect from the ideal spook, but setting that aside her clothing suggested a repressed fun side to her personality that was struggling to break free from whatever psychological barriers were chaining her. Having shed her outer layer and sipped her coffee, for the first time since they'd met she looked up to meet his eyes in full. It took all Harry's years of training to repress a gasp as some of his earlier thoughts were discarded in full. ' _Personable_ _enough_ ' he'd told Tom, ' _Mildly attractive'_ he'd just thought, but now….…those eyes...…Harry was something a connoisseur of women and those eyes, in his not unlimited experience, were unique, large, currently sparkling, blue, although earlier he would have sworn they were grey, changeable then, and whatever their colour they gave character to a face that once seen in full would never be forgotten. The voice that he'd earlier matched with that of the no nonsense Connie was now, in a situation that did not involve professional questioning, musical – he should have guessed that of course, the violin and piano playing skills detailed in her file had indicated as much. Temporarily shaken he nearly missed what she was saying, which inevitably was a question,

"Thanks, but what do I call you Mr…"

Sticking to his legend, "Prince, the full name is Horatio Henry Prince, but I prefer Harry."

"Like my superior – not that I've actually met him. But why Harry and not Horry?"

"Horry, too like horrible, which was what some school friends tried to nickname me."

Ruth gave slow, lovely smile, "I understand, although I assume you used the word friends ironically."

Gosh she was gorgeous, not obviously so but a slow burner rather than flashy. Pushing his luck, Harry wanted to check her discretion; would this more relaxed Ruth let her guard slip? "I didn't like to ask Malcolm but why is Harry not available at present?"

Ruth passed the test, just. "I'm not sure to be honest. I wish I had met him though, it's a little strange working for someone you don't know. Suppose he doesn't like me."

"I doubt you need to worry on that score. But as promised we won't talk about your work, any luck with the leaflets?" As Ruth looked a tad non plussed by this sudden twist of topic he elaborated, "Anything you'd like to see?"

Ruth gave a regretful sigh, "The one play I did want to see was the National's 'King Lear' – as you probably know the title role features one of our foremost Shakespearean actors but it seems to be sold out. As for the rest I think I need to take them home and consider."

It sounded nearly as lonely as his own life making him ask, "So what else are you planning?"

Ruth wasn't sure why she was giving this stranger so much time or even if it was wise, but after an emotionally trying fortnight of juggling the joint stress of work issues combined with the still festering requirement to keep a watchful eye on her stepbrother it was quite pleasant to be talking to an interested someone on topics that didn't revolve around her career woman's alternative to "Kinder, Kuche and Kirche".

"I've enquired about joining a small choir. But I thought before that I'd go to a scratch Messiah – you know a sort of audience singalong at one of the churches next weekend."

That she'd failed to mention the specific church wasn't lost on Harry. Not for Ruth the coy hint that if he wanted to accompany her he'd be welcome. The latest addition to his staff was obviously a spook to her core, and as she failed to respond to his charm offensive in the way he'd come to automatically anticipate from the female sex, she represented an unusually attractive challenge. Knowing that the best way to elicit information was to reveal some Harry replied with, as it happened, total sincerity, "I'm an opera man myself – not Wagner though." Seeing Ruth's impelling gaze fixed on him – oh those eyes they were irresistible, hypnotic. Making a mental note that when he returned to the Grid he really must dispatch her onto a training course in formal interrogation techniques, he explained, "Rather too associated with the Nazis in my mind." And the odiously superior Jules Siviliter but he wasn't going to mention him. "I'm quite partial to well acted Shakespeare as well, although not too keen on some of the more mad interpretations. "

He'd hit the right note, Ruth's face lit up as she enthused, "I know what you mean – that's why I wanted to see what was on here – it's the nearest l'll get to the genuine Elizabethan theatre."

"Take a tip from me then – buy a seat, don't stand in the pit, two to three hours is a long time on your feet and getting out for pee is nigh on impossible as well – or so I'm told, haven't tried it myself."

Encouraged by his advice and feeling somewhat more expansive now she'd spent a little time in his company Ruth rather cheekily remarked, "Yes you like a man who enjoys his home comforts."

"Thank you Miss..er.."

"I'd better not tell you without clearing it with Malcolm first." As Ruth said this she was standing up and pulling on her coat, stating with unmistakable sincerity. "But thank you for everything."

"No need to mention it. Harry would want me to take care of his staff."

"I'll put in a good word then. It might net you some extra work."

With that teasing promise she was gone leaving Harry slightly flat, mildly amused and, beneath his outwardly calm exterior, frantically plotting. It wasn't a situation she'd sought but little though she knew it Miss Ruth Evershed was going to be meeting up with Horatio Prince again, as soon as Harry Pearce could engineer it. As Giles seemed intent on giving her a hard time he owed to her to ensure that she was well looked after, and Harry Pearce was reknowned for taking care of his staff.

Picking up and perusing her discarded National Theatre leaflet Harry had a germ of an idea, the problem was he need Malcolm's help, and Malcolm might suspect the purity of Harry's motives. That was the trouble with old friends – they knew too much about your past.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading and if you have time a review would be lovely._**

 ** _For those who might have wondered the actor mentioned in relation to King Lear was a certain Simon Russell Beale. Couldn't resist the connection._**


	13. Chapter 13: Alec Invades

**_I'm truly sorry for the length of time in updating. Unfortunately life has been extra busy recently. As ever thanks for your patience, my gratitude to those who read the story and even more thanks to those who are forgiving enough of the delay to review._**

* * *

 **Volumes of report**

 **Run with their false and most contrarious quest**

 **Upon thy doings Act 4 Scene 1 lines 59-61**

* * *

Having parked up his van in a temporary spot around the corner from his ultimate destination Alec was now surveying the narrow dead end road that served the rear of the 'Touchstones' building with an operational eye. In as far as a combination of local street maps and Google could indicate the lie of the external land Alec was prepared, but there was nothing like seeing before spooking. Paper and table viewing didn't give the sense of scale, or the actual ambience of the area, leaving aside the inevitable question surrounding all Intel, namely was it one hundred percent up to date. Alec was no student of architecture, although outward appearances implied that the tradesman's side of the building hadn't been upgraded much since it was built, whatever that era was. Malcolm had probably told him but to be honest Alec was less than hung up on the interpretative facts of history, his tendency was to favour the more interesting actual facts relating to the dimensions and placement of doors, windows, alarms, and other pieces of information excluded from online sources, including the size and comparative savagery of any guard dogs. He needed the seat of his pants since that was what he'd be flying by when he finally gained entrée into what Harry had sardonically nicknamed 'Gavrik's Lair'. While judging his various exit routes from the outside Alec was, despite his cosmetic protests to Harry and Malcolm, relishing the further opportunity to use his skills in defence of the nation, although the nice fat fee he'd been promised would prove useful as well, his bank manager proving to be nearly as savage as a Rottweiler when discussing Alec's maxed out credit card.

The internal land which he was here to breach remained something of a mystery although much had been ascertained via Tom's skilful non questioning of Crystal, the gang boss's sister, and her friend, the unfortunate filly who had attracted Giles' roving eye and hands. Alec privately concurred with Harry's judgement that Tom could go far in the service, providing he survived long enough to do so. The Intel that he'd unearthed from the two unwitting girls concerning the club's administration including tasks, timetables and personal foibles of the staff had been comprehensive. Used as the base starting point Malcolm had then followed up these leads with an assiduous combing of CCTV footage to confirm deliveries, suppliers and then, the jewel in his hacking crown, the incredible discovery of maps containing full layouts of the rooms. This latter being the legacy of a planning permission application that, as the building was deemed to have architectural merit, had been required by a heritage minded council. Such was the detail unearthed for his memorisation that Alec, while studying his potentially life saving homework has also seriously wondered when, or if, Malcom slept. But much as he enjoyed winding up the old sobersides Alec was deeply grateful to his desk bound colleague. Without Malcolm's expertise he'd be going in blind, a venture that even the hardest of spooks blenched at.

Reconnaissance completed Alec decided that further delay was unwise. If he idled around much longer someone in 'Touchstones' or the surrounding buildings might just decide, accurately, that he was a dubious character and contact, not the police who were obliged to be vaguely civilised, but some private security bruisers. Returning around the corner Alec climbed into the van, drove it up the back entrance, performing an approximate twenty five point turn to make sure that the vehicle was pointing in the correct direction should a quick getaway be dictated. Exiting the driver's seat he took a deep breath before retrieving his bag of tools from the rear of the van. Should any suspicious doorman wish to check him out all the contents of the metal box were strictly legit, he was keeping the other variety secreted inside his overalls, shrouded in some material that Malcom assured him would resist any detection on electronic sweeps, the frequent use of such at the rear doors being one of the management precautions Tom had fished out from the feminine babble **.**

As he entered the only partially known world of the exclusive gentleman's club Alec could at least draw on previous experiences of imitating a gas company employee, which, after much debate had been the approach of choice, a decision dictated courtesy of Harry's process of elimination:

 _Option a: Bribe an employee to let Alec into the building – very high risk_

 _Option b: Bribe an existing club member to allow entrance – very high risk_

 _Option c: Infiltrate via a false member profile or wangle a guest entrance– given the exclusivity of the club the time element was impossible ,also of the team involved only Harry really possessed the background and social confidence to wangle this. Impossible because recognition was certain and as he was supposedly languishing in a hospital bed under strict guard his presence would be a little difficult to explain away._

 _Option d; Bribe or arrange a swap with the carriers who brought supplies to the club every day. Risky and also Tom had ascertained that the club staff supervised all delivery staff closely, checking that they brought in the right number of crates and did not depart taking any souvenir from the club._

 _Option e; utilise the rule about statuary rights of entry – few would argue about the dangers of a possible gas leaks._

So gas it was.

As he prepared to enter the spying equivalent of a maze cum treasure hunt Alec was inwardly reflecting on the uneven crumbling of the operational cookie, whose basic unfairness meant that while Harry's undercover task had taken place within the confines of a luxury hotel, presenting his expensively dressed torso to a gaggle of gorgeous scantily clad women, accessorised with a wine glass in his hand, he Alec had been forced to stuff himself in a utilitarian coverall accessorised with a workman's tools and the prospect of having to avoid a set a shaven headed goons. Not that Alec knew for certain that the security detail within the building would be shaven headed or tattooed, in fact that might be a little down market given the overall impression the club strove to convey, but he could be certain that even if Gavrik had employed individuals as suave as himself they would also be as ruthless. However the risks had been minimised by selecting the time of day when according to Tom's Intel the staffing was reduced down to only two or three backroom individuals who were there mainly to deal with the phone and the odd unexpected delivery. Unless he wanted to waste this opportunity Alec knew that he had to get moving and just hope that for once the operation would be textbook.

Turning his back on the van that Malcolm had managed to borrow from the MI5 pool of dubious vehicles, this one being internally armoured but devoid any computer equipment that might suggest its purpose was nefarious, Alec and his trusty bag of tools headed for the rear entrance, his head bowed and covered with a hood as he approached. This as not due to nerves or modesty, Alec possessed little of either quality, but policy. After several frame by frame checks Malcolm had managed to pinpoint a couple of angles in which the CCTV had a form of blind spot. Provided Alec, with all the skill of a seasoned actor, hit the unmarked spot he could stand straight and look someone in the eye without the hazard of CCTV id. Not being a trusting sort of individual he'd also taken a leaf out of Harry's current book and as an extra precaution was sporting a mild disguise in the form of grey powder brushed into his hair and with a matching short beard glued to his chiny chin chin.

He'd say one thing for the 'Touchstones' staff, judging by the speed with which his ring on the bell was answered they seemed to be regrettably efficient, or perhaps not. The person who confronted Alec, barring his immediate entrance, was a twenty something complete with a full head of hair and not a tattoo on view, the only issue marring his matinee idol turn out being a white shirt that was slightly grubby around the collar and cuffs. This vision of male eyecandy, while apprehensively eyeing the through looking workman on the doorstep, sounded less than confident as he politely enquired, "Good afternoon **,** what is your business?"

Alec, ever mindful of the CCTV, while carefully calibrating his position replied in a slightly gruff tone, "Gas board, there's been a leak locally and we have to check everyone's appliances."

The young man held his ground, "I can't admit anyone without an appointment." Detecting an increasing uncertainty in his tone, Alec, who'd now matched up the Adonis gatekeeper with an individual the girls had described to Tom as _'fit, nice but a bit dim,_ " pressed his advantage with a shrug of his shoulders as he added, "Up to you mate but if there is a problem and someone lights up..."

"Cigarette smoking isn't allowed."

"I wasn't referring to fags, I'm betting that some of your customers are into weed and lines." When the youth still stood processing this, Alec added by way of encouragement, "Not much point in keeping the toilet seats pristine if the clients start seeing stars for another reason. I won't take long."

By now the 'Touchstones' equivalent of nice but dim Tim was also most wringing his hands as he shuffled with uncertainty, time Alec reckoned for one last push, provided in impatiently truncated sentences. "Look I need to do this. There's no need for fuss, I can be in and out. Unless I find something the management won't even know I've been here. You can ring this number if you want to check." Digging into his overall pocket he excavated a dog eared business care which he handed over, in the full knowledge that if the youth did decide to check out the gas operative who was hassling him the hapless chap would get an earful of Connie's clipped tones telling him what was not really what. The proffering of proof seemed to clinch it as the door opened fully allowing Alec to enter to the sound of his host saying in a tremulously reluctant tone, "Well I suppose it will be okay."

With full truth Alec informed him, "I'll be as quick as I can. Now I need to check all the heaters". Consulting a totally false but official looking document, one of Malcolm's best, with a totally spurious helpfulness he suggested, "How about I start in the offices and work my way down?" While his overwhelmed interrogator was searching for an answer Alec taking silence for consent headed up the staircase, calling down, "First floor according to my records?"

Much as Alec wanted to be in and out quickly he'd been in the spying game too long to attract suspicions by make a beeline for the managers' office, instead he started with the outer, more minor areas, used for the general admin; two rooms, one large and a smaller office, embellished with photos of the secretaries and friends all having a good time. Taking care to make a noise nicely adjusted to suggest work but not sufficient to alarm, he was in fact searching desks that might be used by the two admin staff who were Gavrik's planted employees. Just to make life fun he'd been presented with three tasks, of which task the second was to find the codes used to communicate with Gavrik. It was a quest that Alec, dubious about his ultimate success had incredulously enquired of Malcolm, "So you really think they'll have left something lying around saying I am a codebook?" Malcolm had simply replied evenly, "I doubt it. They use hot desking there but still see what you can find Alec." And at present all he'd found in that respect was a big fat zero.

Having completed this examination Alec then ambled into the holy of holies, the Manager's office, casually as if this was just a simple everyday task. Once inside he made a quick visual check that no CCTV was present, report said not but any spy worth their salt automatically double tested any assertion of that nature. Leaving a couple of tools strewn near the wall heater Alec advanced towards the piece of machinery he'd really come in search of; the wi-fi router. While neither he nor Harry ever pretended to understand the technicalities that so entranced Malcolm, the latter was about the only officer whose instructions the pair would follow without question. Pulling the secret ironmongery out of his pocket Alec bent over the router harmlessly flashing away on its lowly shelf. According to Malcolm all Alec had to do was stick the USB he was equipped with into the router's USB port and that would insert a harmless worm into the router and thereby into the system. The snag was that to accomplish this - task the first - it had to stay in place for about five minutes during which time Alec had to remain undetected. The main objective, achieved with celerity, allowed Alec time in which to do a little extra sleuthing for task the third - find out anything else of use - filing cabinets in particular being an endless source of fascination to spooks. Sadly 'Touchstones' was truly security minded and all were locked, the only open source of information being the manager's desk diary in which were scribbled various obviously routine appointments, hinting at the sort of unexciting existence that made Alec grateful for his chosen career. Admittedly it had been emasculated by his love of booze but as a recruit of Harry's black operations private army he still had intermittent work, sufficient to stave off the debt collectors and encourage him to maintain some contact with sobriety. Having resigned himself to a boring few minutes Alec suddenly became aware of the steady tread of footsteps in the outer area. Crucially, given the local layout, they had to be approaching the office. On the bright side his wish for action had been granted, the down side was represented by his swift movement to reduce the dangers inherent in detection.

As the door opened soundlessly, not for this upmarket institution the unoiled hinge, Alec was to be found on his knees, not in prayer but wielding a screwdriver his wrist actions accompanied by fake huffing and puffing sounds over the wall heater. Both inhabitants of the room gave a mutual start on seeing the other, Alec because having half prepared himself to take on a burly security guard, he was instead looking at a gorgeous twenty something whose personal pulchritude suggested that she should be front of house, not wandering around clutching handfuls of dusty documents. If this was what they employed behind the scenes no wonder the waiting list for membership was full. The glamour girl jumped, the cause of which was explained in her apology, "I'm sorry I didn't realise someone was here." Her husky tone sounding like an invitation to intimacy.

"Gas board, checking the fire" Alec replied shortly. The girl smiled, "That's okay I'm just here to do some filing so do carry on,' a reply that posed a problem, namely how did Alec remove Malcolm's toy when that distraction was undertaking her work duties at the filing cabinet next to it.

"Thanks Miss er."

"I'm called Tia Maria."

While considering that the sight of her was even more attractive then the drink she was named after Alec now had gained his bearings and knew precisely why such a peach was lurking amongst the administration desks. This was the girl Giles had assaulted. Well Alec had to admit he could understand the temptation, those legs, that voice and all the bits in between…not that that excused Giles in the slightest. While the assault had been bad news for Tia at least the end result was that Giles had given the backroom staff with something far more pleasant to look at than management directives. Alec however would be glad to get rid of her, an uncharacteristic reaction when confronted by such a looker, but he was at work and needed her to leave so he could complete and sign off on his operation. While he was trying to decide how this was to be accomplished fate intervened in the handsome shape of the Dim Tim employee running into the office in a state of agitation, "Tia I can't find the documentation for the wine delivery and.."

Tia Maria's face swapped her professional smile in favour of the exasperated expression of every administrator faced with the person who constantly goofed as she informed him with a totally spurious patience, "I told you I put in the file in…" but before she could finish the sentence which had been greeted thus far with a totally blank reaction she terminated her instructions substituting them with a sigh. "I'll come and get it, I've got a few minutes." With that she vanished, Tim trailing in her path with the air of a disconsolate spaniel. The instant the door snapped shut Alec took his cue and sprang into immediate action. Within a couple of seconds he was across the room removing the USB while carefully ensuring that the router looked undisturbed, thanks heavens the cleaners kept the place dust free. Turning to collect his bag he noticed that in her haste Tia had left the filing cabinet unlocked, gloves on he pulled the nearest drawer open. Somewhere there was a God: he'd just got access to the membership files. Mindful of Malcolm's earlier comments that some managements were increasingly inclined to stick to paper for sensitive data as a defence against online hacks of the type he'd just, with luck accomplished, he hurriedly fingered his way through the alphabetic locations and was rewarded within about thirty seconds by the sight of a manila folder bearing the name "Giles Banford-Smythe'. Phone out, he didn't bother to read anything further, he'd not got time to winnow out the wheat from the chaff so just he'd grab as many happy snaps as possible. Clicking away with an ear half cocked for the return of Tia, her full name was reminding him that by the time he got out of this place he'd need a drink before returning to the austere delights of Connie's establishment. As Tia's reappearance, signalled by the clip of heels, became imminent he shoved the file back, soundlessly closing the cabinet and dived across the room stripping off his gloves as he went. By the time Tia entered in person he was innocently packing away his tools.

"That's all Miss so I'll be heading downstairs to the other areas." A comment accepted with a brief smile as she busied herself with her interrupted task, oblivious to the breach she'd caused. As he wandered back through the main office Alec was wondering if she'd be so very upset if she'd known that he was out to get the man who'd had her demoted, remembering Tom's reportage, "Tia was glad to be kept on but she's lost out on tips and of course she misses working with the other girls."

That Tia might in the long run have reason to be grateful to him, along with ideas as to how she could express that gratitude, was a thought that had to be parked in favour of the more pressing concern as to the location of the code books, assuming they existed beyond the brains of the two staff, although from his knowledge of Malcolm Alec knew that the latter would have good grounds for suspecting that a written code format existed. As he passed Dim Tim, acknowledging his presence with a nod Alec noted almost automatically that the latter was now wearing sparkling white shirt that presented as infinitely brighter than its owner. So where had that come from? A thought that created a light bulb moment, of course staff room – lockers – where? Once out of sight and into the corridor Alec paused to consider. Those of hours poring over the building plans had not been wasted. These old mansions used to run on umpteen servants who were traditionally housed in either the garrets or the basement. He was on the first floor, all offices, the second was given up to the public rooms, the third floor was divided into a series of small suites for private sessions which Harry had described as ' _gamble by invitation, win blackmail by debt_ ', the fourth had small rooms for overnight hospitality, with the basement areas used purely for storage. So that left just the ground floor, kitchens and, he now recalled, a sizeable staff room. With luck no one would be around and he'd have an easy run. Checking his watch he realised it was about three o'clock. As he recalled staff began arriving to begin work at four so he had about half an hour tops, he'd better get cracking then. Moving purposefully down the stairs he ignored the exit and made straight for the staffroom, sending out thanks that the CCTV was in use only at the entrances and the exits of the building. Cautiously he opened the door and threw a quick glance around, no one present. The furnishings seemed to consist of comfortable sofas and leather chairs, with a couple of low standing coffee tables and in one corner a sizeable television screen, currently dark. At the far end stood a door which Alec made for without hesitation. Bingo: a row of staff lockers and at the far end a further door with toilets and showers. Even better all the lockers were had a name card on the front. Alec raked across them with his eyes finally locating the surnames he was looking for. That the lockers were well named, ie locked, daunted him not at all, no spy travelled without the bag of tricks that made these locks seem as secure as playdoh. It was a work of seconds to open up the first one, blast, just a spare shirt, pair of trousers and, as if the owner was living out a cliché, a bottle of vodka. Closing and relocking the door Alec moved onto the locker of his compatriot. Whether you found the contents more exciting depended on whether your personal preference was for booze or porn. Alec with time for neither just glanced at the interesting poses of the women on show, but as he pushed the magazines aside he suddenly realised that unlike the models depicted therein the magazines themselves were concealing something. Secreted just behind the stash was a small exercise book. Opening it up without much hope, one squiz at its contents succeeded where the porn had failed. His heart was leaping as he scanned the pages. Unless he was mistaken he'd found the code. Pulling out his phone he repeated the snapping process, pushed the book back into position and relocked. His haste to do so encouraged by the sound of two individuals approaching.

By the time the door opened Alec had dived backwards and was now emerging from a flushing toilet cubicle as two bodies appeared at the door. To Alec's relief the entrants were Tia Maria and a female friend. Until they'd caught sight of him the pair had plainly been giggling, so he suspected an all girls early evening rendezvous, probably to swap gossip about the world upstairs that Tia had been banished from. Whatever their motive they both halted when they saw him, Tia commenting with a small soupcon of suspicion, "I thought you were supposed to off the premises – and there's certainly no gas fire in here."

Ale was ready with his excuse as he bent slightly double, clutched his stomach with the hand that wasn't holding the work box of tools and gasped, "Sorry but I got caught a bit short, I think it's the burger I had earlier." As he accompanied this by a convincing retch neither girl felt inclined to delay his departure although the new one, he thought she might be Crystal the unsuspecting sister of Tom's gang leader employer, did ask strain herself to ask in a tone that suggested she required a negative answer, "Do you want to sit down for a few minutes." She needn't have worried, Alex was keen to depart as he wheezed, "No, I think I need the fresh air." Retaining his character he tottered to the exit, reflecting that if he remained slightly hunched as he passed the security camera at the back entrance his face would again be obscured.

Once outside he climbed into the van and with as much speed as was legal departed, promising himself a good long drink in some pub before returning to Connie's dry establishment. If he was sparing a thought beyond this it was sympathy for Malcom. While Harry was dossing in Serge's flat in the character of a Russian spy and he Alec was suffering with Connie at least they were able to rest. Malcolm, poor sod, on top of everything else, had to do his normal day's work on the Grid, produce the endless documents required for the undercover tasks and now as a result of the last half hour's activities he Alec was about to send the overworked techie another avalanche of Intel to analyse.

Never mind, they were now a couple of steps nearer to nailing Giles and that needed to celebrated with something that was way more tempting than Connie's instant coffee granules.

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 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment to spare pre Christmas a review would be appreciated. Whether or not you review and in case I don't get posted again this year have a good time.**_


	14. Chapter 14: Doghouse

_**Happy New Year to everyone, thanks to all those read and especially that thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter at a very busy time of year. I'd like to say my New Year's resolution is to post more frequently but I doubt it's achievable.**_

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 **Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd (Act 3 Sc 1 Line 53-54)**

"DOGHOUSE"

An instruction masquerading as a word, usually indicative that some major security nightmare was about to unfold. Picked up on their respective mobiles Harry and Alec although separated by a few miles of London concrete, after the obligartory sharp intake of breath, experienced another almost identical reaction. Basically stomach clenching apprehension spiked with a mild streak of relief.

Harry caught midway through his promised prembulation of St Katherine's dock, while inevitably concerned as to the cause of the alert, doghouse being used to signal that the security breach was internal, was nontheless grateful for a reason to postpone his return to the borrowed flat. Harry wasn't prone to fantasy, the real world he lived in being beyond belief, but try as he might to block it he couldn't prevent the reptilian image of Ilya Gavrik floating into his brain whenever he crossed the threshold of the Russian owned safe house. Boredom had much to answer for.

Alec, caught gulping his second beer in a dive so downmarket that most sane people venturing across the threshold instantly prayed to be thrown out of it, was also looking forward to some four walled avoidence. Unlike Harry the spectre haunting his temporary domicile was that of the very real flesh and blood Connie transforming into a fire breathing dragon if he so much as took a step towards her drinks cabinet. Not that she needed to bother, when Alec had finally managed to surreptitiously check out its contents he'd drawn the line at pouring either sherry or non alcholic wine down his gullet – while wondering what exactly was the point of drinking the latter anyway. Doghouse for him meant that with luck he'd spend the night either working, or if the emergency allowed he could flop in his own basement flat, he might even have time to pick up a woman if the scare proved to be a chimera.

With these conflicting emotions they both headed off to find out what had exactly exercised the normally calm Malcolm so seriously that he'd felt obliged to contact them. Harry in particular was making haste as he was the flat key holder. Discreet as the exterior surroundings were it would be lousy tradecraft to leave Malcolm hanging around the outside entrance like a neglected Christmas decoration. As it happened Harry needn't have worried. Arriving and silently unlocking the very well oiled front door he was astounded when he stepped into an already lit hallway, surely he had remembered to turn the light off when he'd previously departed! Of course he had, it had been daylight when he left. Standing very still while he considered the situation his ears picked up the unmistakable rustle of someone shuffling around the sitting room. Damn it he wasn't carrying a gun, that sort of thing was frowned upon on the London Tube, and in his casual persona he wasn't wearing a tie either, which left him thrown back onto cunning, his bare hands and fighting dirty to defend himself. Possibly the intruder hadn't heard him arrive, habit making him enter on silent feet, so despite the absence of any weapon he might just have the advantage of surprise. Creeping up to the closed door, Harry burst it open and stormed into the sitting room, fists at the ready, only to be pulled up short by the sight that met his eyes.

Malcolm, seated as if he was still on the embankment, but with his laptop opened and a cup of tea beside him, was looking up calmly as he gave a wry smile prior to greeting his boss with, "Hello Harry, or should I say Mr Giles Farmer."

Harry skidding to a halt across the carpet only just avoided crashing into the settee cushions. Steadying his balance he turned an expression onto his Senior Technical Officer that was a nice mixture of bafflement and fury. Malcolm, so often on the receving end of Harry's maverick plottings was quietly enjoying himself as he risked a subtle criticism of his superior, "I really think you should have used a less memorable alias when you bought the flat."

Harry had just about managed to recover his breath and voice as he grunted, "Er how…"

"Did I discover the alias or break in?"

"Both," came the snapped reply.

Although baiting Harry was even more unsafe than baiting a chained grizzly Malcolm, having carefully calculated that he was out of punching range couldn't resist, especially when deep down he considered that Harry severely underestimated his reasoning powers. "Oh really Harry, a comfortable flat not on MI5's safe list, that you have the key to it – ever heard of the Land Registry? Then it was an elementary job to trace the money. " As if to add to Harry's woes he concluded, "And after years of working for Five do you really think I've a problem with picklocks – your security here is woeful."

Harry, having been rendered momentarily speechless, managed to inform his scornful techie, "Method in my madness. I don't keep valuables here and if I put in the security I have at my offically registered home it might look a little suspioucs."

Malcolm having achieved the rare feat of discomforting Harry unbent enough to suggest, "Maybe but before we complete this operation Harry I'll sort out something that is unobtrusive. As for your alias and the money trail I've done a little juggling and buried everything in computer concrete boots."

Whatever Harry was going to reply was lost when a merry ring of the bell heralded Alec's arrival. Heading to the the door Harry heard Malcolm hissing after him, "And I'll not mention this to Alec."

Alec entered in a form of alcholic whirlwind bearing with him the gift of several cans of beer. Following Harry into the room and plonking them on the table beside Malcolm he snapped one open with scant regard for the Health and Safety rules governing the inadvisability of computer and liquid contacts. Throwing himself into a spare unoccupied armchair he commented, "If Doghouse means we've been found out I thought the condemned men deserved a last drink together." A statement that recalled Harry to the real reason for their presence, his questioning having been diverted by the curved ball Malcolm had lobed into initial greetings.

Decided to avail himself of Alec's generosity he opened his own can and took refuge on the settee he'd so nearly tumbled onto, resuming command as he demanded of Malcolm, "Well do we have to abort?"

Malcolm was able to kick the worst case scenario out of the park. "Nothing like that, but some developments that might require investigation and could cause a few problems."

"And these developments are?" Harry enquired with a frown.

Malcolm, opening up his own beer on the basis of when in Rome, was succinct, "They are called, Giles, Jed and Ruth."

It was Alec who asked, "We know the first two are shits but Ruth the new anaylst – where does she come in?" A question that Harry, having just parted from the lady in question less than two hours previously, was glad to be spared, even if Malcolm's answer failed to clear the confusion.

"Really she doesn't …. at least….". Taking gulp of his drink Malcolm, while not exactly spurred on by this inexpensive version of Dutch courage was able to expand, "It's a few issues together and I think it best that I start at the beginning."

The two faces now glaring at Malcolm were in total agreement. Malcolm inwardly shuddering at the likely reaction to what he was about to voushsafe cleared his throat, "As I told you Harry, Giles has been getting rather cosy with Jed, after today's meeting to discuss the weekend operational debacle..…" at that he hesitated, Harry knew about this but Alec wasn't cleared and…..

Alec came to their rescue, "It's okay just skim over whatever that was about. We haven't got all night."

Rescued and rebuked Malcolm picked up the tale, sort of, as his fingers hovered over a button on the laptop, "This is the recording of that conversation. It isn't very edifying." That statement in itself didn't particulalry alarm the other pair. Little that was discussed in Section D was edifying and both were privately thinking along the lines of, ' _You can take the boy out of the Methodist chapel but_ … Until the less than dulcet tones of Jed and the obnxious smooth cadences of Giles echoed around the room, making them both realise that in this instance they owed Malcolm an apology for that earlier injustice.

 _Ah Jed – I wonder if you could take this note for me to the red haired receptionist I'd like to discuss her future career propsects but not in the office. It might imply favouritism. I believe you mentioned that Harry had made similar suggetisons._

 _I'll say – there again Harry made similar suggestions to alot of the junior staff – always at it… I should know I had to book the meeting rooom several times so he could... All very confidential of course._

 _Of course – when I'm Section Head I will remember this Jed, because I can assure you that Harry will not be returning, and I'll reward those who proved their loyalty to me. As part of my future chosen team is there anything I can do for you at present._

 _Well I'm being stalked by a blackmailing ex – she's claiming I fucked her when I didn't._

 _Easily sorted Jed. Just tell her if she continues there will be consequences to blackmail. And Jed do keep me in touch with the feeling on the Grid. Even Malcolm is being less than supportive._

At this point Malcolm switched off the recording. Not before time, Harry, whose autocratic tendencies were tempered by his loathing of crawlers and hatred of those who exploited their position for personal gain, was radiating a furious heat sufficient to power the National Grid for the next fortnight. Leaving it to Alec to splutter incredulously, '"So you dragged us here for that – a recording of Giles' attempt to get his leg over with some popsie on the admin staff while Jed licks his arse, that's an every day story in most workplaces."

"Not in my Section." Harry's furious growl indicating that if Jed and Giles had been physically present their life expectancy would have been measurable in nanoseconds. "But Alec is partly right, I agree I needed to know about this, but why doghouse?"

Malcolm while looking slightly uncomfortable with this onslaught held his ground. "Strictly speaking an overraction, but there are a couple of other items to appraise you of and I need advice on how to cope." With an assertive tone unusual for the retiring Malcolm he reminded them both, "Given that I have to maintain my cover as the Grid double agent."

Alec grinned sardonically, "Well you're a good deal more successful at it than Jed."

Malcolm did not give the appearance of someone who was flattered by this comparison with the Grid idiot. Before matters could be come heated, Malcolm had been known produce the occasional outburst of temper, Harry suggested,

"And the rest then?"

"To stay with Jed for a moment," interrupted by Alec groaning, "Do we really have to waste more time on that little shit?"

"Yes unfortunately, and at least you've not had the pleasure of working with him. Which is rather more than can said of the woman who was emailing him, which is where Ruth came in."

Rather more quickly than he'd intended Harry asked, "Surely you're not saying…" experiencing an inexplicable relief when Malcolm hurriedly disabused him of that nightmare, "NO of course not, but remember she wanted to talk to me confidentially…"

"Ah." A brief pause that allowed Malcolm to enlighten Alec, "As I was saying this is where Ruth came in, she accidentally crashed into my teatime meeting with Harry but wouldn't speak in front of him."

"How very proper of her – so what!"

"She saw the email Jed sent to this woman threatening her with MI5 retribution if she didn't desist." Turning to Harry he added, "And Harry, he lied to Giles, judging by the content of the emails he did er…and it seems the woman belongs to an escort agency the one we er…" Malcolm's struggles to tiptoe around a delicate subject were felled by Alec, "So he literally got stuck into one of staff from the quasi prostitute agency the department hires for the lesser honeytraps – and the problem is!"

Harry expostulated with exasperation, "First of all it's completely against all the protocols laid down and secondly I think Malcolm has something else to tell us."

Grateful to his boss Malcolm returned to the unsavoury revelations wishing, not for the first time in the last few weeks, that he'd chosen some other profession. "After Ruth's tip off I returned to the Grid and checked his email account. If the woman is telling the truth, and I think she was, Jed bribed his way er…inside shall we say, and failed to observe the necessary etiquette in terms of health and safety. When she realised he'd lied she also requested payment at the de luxe rate for unprotected encounters – and well he's followed Giles' suggestion and threatened her."

Harry despite a lifetime in the serivce, not to mention having used his own body as a honeytrap more that once, was disgusted, a state of mind not helped by Alc commenting, "Are you sure Jed's as stupid as you suggest, you could say he's really getting stuck in. Let's face it wangling a condom lite freebie out of a pro is quite an achievement."

Harry was clearly suffering from a sense of humour bypass and a more sensitive soul than Alec would have been shrivelled on the spot by the glare from his eyes. "One that will see him receiving his P45 when I get back to the Grid." Sighing he admitted, although it cost him an effort, "You were right Malcolm about the havoc that Giles would create."

Glad to receive this acknowledgment Malcolm felt obliged to make his own admission, "That's not the most immediate present problem, and I'm certain you'll deal with Jed in your own way." Heaving a sigh he made his final revelation, "The major problem might just be Ruth."

With one having met Ruth and the other having gathered a few essential facts about her from hearsay Harry and Alec gawked in surprise, a muddle that was scarcely banished by Malcolm's continuing words, "As I reported to you Harry Giles was furious when she wrong footed his takeover bid and he's now asked HR to send him her personnel file."

After Malcolm's earlier information Harry didn't need the rest spelling out, "That doesn't bode well for her but why?"

For once Alec was quicker on the uptake, "Because he's a rule bound control freak on a power trip. If she made him look like an idiot he'll want revenge."

A comment that earned him some rare approval from Malcolm, "Exactly my thoughts but how is the question." Addressing Harry, whose forehead was wrinkled with thought he enquired, "Is there anything at all in her file that would give grounds for a dismissal?"

"Nothing." Seeing the sceptical looks from both men, well justified given Harry's reputation for appointing the occasional loose cannon, he gave an exasperated puff, "Having been forced into giving her a permanent non probationary contract I trawled through her life and contacts with a toothcomb, not even a parking ticket and her main relationship seems to be with her cat." He didn't voice the thought _'what a waste'_ that rippled through his mind as he uttered this.

Malcolm didn't seem particularly reassured, "I woudn't put much past that man and I can't really protect her since all this information is covert – intervene and that could blow the whole operation apart."

As spooks none of them needed reminding of the mantra, _'The operation always comes first'_. It was Alec who broke the glum silence, "Malcolm as you are effectively mentoring her would she confide in you at all?"

Malcolm answered sadly, "I doubt it, she's still finding her way and even if she did I can't do much – tackle Giles directly and I'll be off the Grid in short order."

After a few minutes consideration Harry came vaguely clean, "I met her after we split up Malcolm." Seeing Alec's eye glint he explained, "It was a pure accident but I did persuade her to have a coffee with me." Meeting Malcom's frown he added, "She only accepted on the grounds that she'd be reporting the matter to you Malcolm so she is aware of protocols. If she thinks I'm trustworthy but not part of the Grid I wonder if I could possibly persuade her to confide in me."

Malcolm while aghast at this potential break in Harry's cover left a conversational opportunity for Alec to mutter enviously, "We're well aware of your fatal charm with women." Before he pointedly added, "But even so what can you do?"

"I can alert Malcolm and between us we might be able to take action without Giles knowing." At the sceptical looks he demanded with asperity, "Any better ideas?"

After another long pause the worn down Malcolm finally asked wearily, "I'm dubious but how do you suggest proceeding?"

Point won Harry proceeded to lumber the long suffering Malcolm with yet another task, "She mentioned a scratch Messiah at one of the London churches. Find out which one it is and then we'll go together." Seeing the word 'why' trembling on Alec's lips he explained, "If she sees me with Malcolm and he reassures her I'm safe to be seen with then she might be willing meet me for the odd drink and…"

"You can work your charm – yes Harry I get the picture. But have you considered if she sees you off Grid with Malcolm for a second time, and in a social situation at that, she might assume you're a couple."

If Alec and indeed much of MI5 would have found the suggestion that Harry was gay risible the man himself took the suggestion with equanimity. "Even better, women love to confide in gays – or so I'm told."

Malcolm aware of the unfounded rumours concerning his own sexuality while not thrilled with this suggestion but seeing no alternative, the default mode for most of Harry's madcap ideas, eased the conversation into the final furlong, "I doubt it'll work. Also she's so honest herself I worry about what happens when she discovers out your true identity but can I make a suggestion?"

"Well."

"How about passing Giles this document – with luck if he bites we can wrap up the operation before he manages to destory Section D." In acknowledgement of Alec's efforts he informed two very relieved spooks, the feed from the ' _Touchstones'_ hub is working, I was checking it when Alec arrived, so with that piece now in place I see no reason for further delay."

"So I did not suffer in vain today. Good." Pleased with his success Alec wanted to remind his MI5 employed colleagues of his own skills, "Was the rest of the Intel any use."

Malcolm smiled resignedly, "I've not really had a chance to check it but yes I think it will help to build the case. While I'm doing that Harry have I your permission to proceed as originally planned?"

Harry nodded his agreement "Of course – do you have the rest of the wherewithal for the first stage?"

Malcolm didn't bother to answer – instead he pulled out of his briefcase a silm box embellished with an 'Eyes Only' sticker into which he placed a weighty document, locked the box, then after straightening up formally announced to his colleagues,

"The next stage of the operation _'Take out Giles'_ goes live at 8.30am tomorrow morning."

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 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated.**_


	15. Chapter 15: Giles Thinks

**Thanks to those who read and reviewed the last chapter - I really feel bad about the delays in posting but at present they are unavoidable. Anyway I thought it was time to explore the thought processes of the delightful Giles in more depth even if he is about as shallow as a toddler's paddling pool.**

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Having arrived earlier than usual Giles noted that the Grid was almost deserted, apart from the night shift staff who were yawning over their desktops. He'd have to mention this as a possible disciplinary issue, they were clearly not operating at a satisfactory level of efficiency. A new targeted monitoring system should ensure that they were not lazing during the dark hours when he was not personally available to keep them up to the mark. For the moment though Giles was content to sit in his recently acquired office, feet on the desk, coffee cup in his hand, smugly congratulating himself on achieving his recently acquired position.

When he'd initially been approached about this secondment he'd wondered whether Richard Dolby, although not renowned for his senses of humour, was playing a late April's Fool's day joke. This moment of modesty had however been speedily superseded by the recognition that few others within the organisation possessed his qualifications for the role. Not only was he an ace administrator, well versed in all the protocols that were essential if the Service was to retain its credibility in a rapidly changing world, he could also boast of vital personal contacts through his network of personal friends. Crucially, unlike Harry, his networking contacts did not require him to bring the Service into disrepute through the making of deals with dubious double agents. Giles' list of contacts was altogether more respectable, featuring heavily the names of those who were destined for the upper echelons of government. This, allied with the few years he'd spent proving his personal worth in a department run by the cretinous George Brenwood, provided ample reason for his being headhunted as the next Head of Counter terrorism.

Admittedly Harry Pearce remained the nominal head and he was proving a tough act to follow, not in the administrative sense, Giles had that one nailed, the staff went by the book or else, so unlike the sloppy thinking that had so far permeated most of the department's work. Harry Pearce clearly had not trained his subordinates correctly; he'd allowed them far too much latitude and familiarity. And his staff selection policy also left much to be desired, for example what had he been thinking of when he'd appointed that jumped up Ruth Evershed to a permanent post. Well all the staff would have to learn who was in charge now. Sort them out and he would have a glittering career before him. As one of his friends in the Foreign Office had commented Giles was the future, dynamic, forward looking and just the sort of individual the politicians needed in post, one of themselves, who understood the need to live in the new world of globalisation and the importance of co-operating for the greater good. The day of the washed up remnant of the latter part of the Cold War, as exemplified by Harry Pearce, was gone. They needed new men for a new age, people in the Service who would seamlessly safeguard the interests of country and treat the politicians with the reverence they were owed as the representatives of the people, not despise them as an unnecessary evil.

Sitting in his office, with the blinds open for once, the head of a department should not encourage staff to watch and criticise his working methods, Giles was considering his next moves, the latest word from Dolby being that Harry was not responding well to the treatment and his absence was likely to be extended. Good news for Giles, although he thought it would cut more satisfactorily to the chase if Harry just gave up and died. That would reduce the tedious waiting time before Giles could be confirmed in his position and if Harry was so badly injured his dying would be a mercy for all concerned. For now while Giles lounged around wearing the almost dead man's shoes he'd concentrate on re-organising the section. A matter of urgency since the few days he'd spent squatting in Harry's very comfy seat had confirmed the warning he'd been given before venturing through the pods, namely that the majority of the staff were more loyal to Harry than they were to the Service. Not a long term problem, he'd easily overcome that flaw by rooting out and dismissing each and every officer the instant they stepped out of line, replacing them with his own handpicked team. He rather thought the Malcolm might be the exception to that policy, his long standing reputation as the best technical officer in the business meant that he was an asset not even Giles could justify losing, but the rest could go, including Jed. At present the latter had his uses, primarily as Giles' own private spy on the Grid, but Giles was fully aware that Jed would sway with the wind. He'd be easy to lose, in fact Giles had already actioned his departure. If Jed had been stupid enough to follow up Giles' suggestion that he threatened the whore he'd poked with Service retribution then that was dismissible offence, with no written evidence that Giles put him up to it. The only lesson Giles did think he could take from Harry was to insist on unquestioning personal loyalty. Combine that with modern thought, appoint his own acolytes, and he could turn Section D into an effective unit, working in harmony with government policies.

Life he decided was good, his career was on the upturn and he had a gorgeous well connected fiancé whose adoration of Giles was plain to all. Privately he would admit that, although very decorative, Chastity was a trifle vacant in the brains department and sex with her was a little vanilla, but he could live with that. Wealth and access to influential contacts counted for more, besides in his view so called intelligent women were a nuisances who didn't know their place – the impertinent Ruth Evershed and eye glaring Zoe were proof of that –as for sex, it wasn't as if in this day and age exciting and secret alternatives didn't exist.

Thoughts of other women, and the enticing opportunities they presented, inevitably led him backwards to recollections of Jane and Tia Maria. The first had proved to be something of a disappointment. He'd have expected her to be more liberated and willing to experiment. Instead she'd dumped him in a fit of pique and taken up with that smarmy, answer for everything Horatio Prince. Who, along with Miss Evershed would soon learn what happened to those who dared to cross him. Mr Prince had been somewhat vague on his personal details and Giles having casually asked around could discover nothing at all about him. Indeed despite his undoubted pretence the pest seemed to be a non person, but he'd been unaware of who he was dealing with. Antagonised, his fury surging up even as he recalled their encounter and the sight of a vibrantly happy Jane wrapped in Horatio's arms, Giles decided that he'd set Malcolm the task of discovering Mr Prince's antecedents and design his next move from whatever information he had little doubt his highly efficient technical office would unearth. Revenging himself on Jane was simple, at some point he'd hint that she was responsible for leaking the information that had enabled the Russian conglomerate to snare that under the wraps security contract. Even if unproven her career would be destroyed.

Pushing suspicion for this breach onto Jane would also put himself in the clear. Giles was well aware that while he'd passed the information on in good faith, after it had been pointed out to him that the Russian oligarch could offer a good price and benefits to the country, his motives could be misinterpreted. Personally Giles saw no fundamental difference between his accepting a reduction of his ' _Touchstones_ ' garnered gaming debts and the directorships, fine wining and dining, Tuscan holidays and similar benefits offered to his MP chums, in fact he was less at fault as no money had actually changed hands. According to the ' _Touchstones_ ' management this had been logged as a goodwill gesture to a valued member, as was the sacking of Tia Maria. Really if the girl worked as a hostess what did she expect from the male clients, standing there in a scanty dress, bosoms heaving and smiling in his direction. It occurred to him that since his elevation to Section D he hadn't visited ' _Touchstone_ s', he'd really been a little too busy sorting out the section paperwork, and he had to keep Chastity happy as well. Mentally he was reserving a night at the weekend for a visit, as Chastity would be at the family country estate helping her mother entertain tweedy members of the county at a party of such promised boredom that Giles had made work an excuse to absent himself from it. He would need to be careful though, his ' _Touchstones'_ debts remained eye wateringly high and he had to keep the management happy, until he could discover a means of wiping them out in their entirety.

The whoosh of the pods indicating the arrival of the daytime staff made him park that thought as he pulled the blinds shut and powered up his computer. Nothing new, except to his annoyance a note from HR stating that Ruth Evershed's file would not be arriving for a few days, some technical glitch had wiped it and protocol insisted that everything had to be re scanned and signed off before the documents could be released. Confronted with this further evidence of inefficiency Giles, baulked of his plans to wreck revenge on the subject of the file, emitted a small huff of irritation at the precise moment that Malcolm, having first knocked punctiliously on the door, made an appearance.

Completely unfazed by Giles' snarl of, 'Yes', he moved forward to deposit a secure case on the desk, its outer surface embellished with a flaring red advisory 'Eyes Only' note, smartly moving backwards as he explained,

"My apologies Sir, but this arrived in Reception and I've transported it up to the Grid."

Giles glared as he addressed this breach of regulations, "These cases are supposed to be transported by security so I hope you have a good reason for bypassing this rule."

"Basically to preserve security Sir," before Giles could snap once more Malcolm explained, "As I arrived the security staff were sorting out the secure deliveries but unfortunately they had a fracas to deal with at the door, some malcontent with his mates wanting access, it took most of the floor staff away and that left the document cases vulnerable."

"So!"

"As you can see it's marked 'Eyes Only' and with the absence of staff to guard it a member of the security staff requested that I remove it." Adding helpfully, "I made him escort me to the lift. As you know the entire route into the Grid is on CCTV."

What Malcolm failed to add, or indeed mention, was that the fracas so vividly described had been created by a group of hoodlums in Alec's pay, allowing Malcolm himself to place the case on the top of the pile while the door staff were distracted and then indicate to the most inexperienced staff member that a serious security breach was threatened. If Giles did check the veracity of the story he would find it was much as Malcolm described and in the general confusion who would remember accurately what had taken place.

It would be too much to say Giles unbent but he did deign to wave his hand in a gesture of approval as he stated sententiously, "Thank you Malcolm you did very well."

Malcolm quietly seething under this patronage was reflecting that indeed he had, although not in the way Giles thought. He was about to leave when Gilles announced ominously,

"I have a task for you Malcolm. I need information in a shady character called Horatio Prince. I meet him at a reception a few days ago and he was sniffing around for information. I think he could be a security risk as no one present, bar one, seemed to know of him."

Malcolm was inwardly reflecting that Giles wasn't exactly wrong, he just hadn't realised the type of information Harry was after. The semi astuteness of his temporary boss was however setting mental alarm bells ringing. Malcolm knew he'd have to comply but he also needed to avoid having Harry's legend penetrated, which would have been so much easier had Horatio Prince not also met Ruth the information truffle hound and was now set on furthering their acquaintance. Matters were becoming complicated to say the least.

None of this showed however in Malcolm's face as he asked mildly, "It this a priority in view of the Section's current work load?"

Giles regarded the techie for a moment, wondering if this was yet another example of Grid insubordination but Malcolm, while at least four decades too old to be a choir boy, was exuding a similar air of innocence. An air that anyone associated with a real life choir boy would have known to be utterly spurious. Silently considering for a few moments, Giles was well aware that several urgent operations had drifted their way into the Grid, he grudgingly agreed,

"Not major but if you could manage something within the next ten days or so."

Relief didn't begin to cover how Malcolm felt, he'd still have to tighten up the background and he needed to know exactly what Harry had told Jane and Ruth but he could manage a triple depth legend complete with plenty of dead ends and delays. He'd have to tackle Harry at the Scratch Messiah, discovering its location being Malcolm's current priority. Nodding an assent he departed leaving Giles to admire his very first 'Eyes Only' case.

Once alone Giles snapped the case open and opened up the document. One glance at the title told him that he was holding political dynamite and a possible solution to his debt issues. Not actually believing what he was seeing he re-read the report title carefully. No he'd been right the first time, it did actually state:

 **TOP SECRET**

 **THE FINAL DRAFT OF THE PROPOSED SALE OF THE BBC TO PRIVATE PROVIDERS**

* * *

 **When I originally came up with this idea I thought it wacky, despite the efforts of the Murdoch press and Daily Mail etc to rubbish the BBC in its entirety. Then we ended up with a Culture Secretary who said he'd be happy to sell the BBC. Thankfully he is not longer in post but the plans to have backdoor political input seem to be alive and kicking.**

 **Anyway if you have a moment a review would be appreciated.**


	16. Chapter 16: The Singalong

_**First of all an apology for the length of time it's taken me to update. Real Life seems to have taken over big time at present. While apologising can I also thank those who read and greater thanks to those who reviewed. I hope the fact that this is an HR chapter will compensate to some extent for the wait.**_

* * *

 **but this virtuous maid**

 **Subdues me quite. Ever til now**

 **When men were fond, I smiled and wondered how. Act 2 Sc 4 190-192**

Although with the approach of summer the evenings were beginning to lengthen it was still twilight as Harry and Malcolm, resplendent in evening dress, ambled down the approach road to the church that, in about twenty minutes time, was due to ring with the sound of Handel's most famous oratorio. While the church and music might be concentrated on matters beyond this world the conversation between the two friends was firmly anchored in issues pertaining to a far less elevated plane, this being their not so heaven sent opportunity for an operational catch up.

Given that the main object of the evening was to allow Harry to renew his acquaintanceship with Ruth unsurprisingly he was seeking an update on Giles' current intentions in that direction.

"So he's made no move at all." Puzzled he asked, "Has he changed his mind then?"

The note of hope in Harry's voice was felled instantly. "I doubt it, he's been agitating HR every day for her file but…" Malcolm allowed himself a mildly self satisfied smile, "Due to an unfortunate slip on someone's part her electronic file, along with a few others, has been wiped and Giles can't have access until HR have rescanned everything which task, taking account of their normal work load, will require a few more days to complete."

He'd earned an answering grin from Harry, "How sad – you really can't get the staff these days." Moving on he asked the next burning question "And our file…"

Malcolm unable to produce such a positive answer, "He's spent ages studying it but no attempt to contact anyone." Before adding, "However I understand that his fiancé is out of town this weekend so he may decide to visit ' _Touchstones_ '."

Harry considered for a moment before enquiring, "How will we know for certain?"

"Alec is skulking near the entrance and once he sees Giles enter, if he does, Alec will be heading off to the nearest all night café complete with a tablet to access any comms."

"Very well. But if Giles doesn't bite we'll get Connie's Russian assets to flag up to the Gavrik crew that something juicy has emerged." Concluding that statement with a sigh, "but I do hope that won't be necessary."

Having suffered through several days contact with the insufferable Giles Malcolm's query was heartfelt. "Does it matter as long as we catch him?"

Harry understood Malcolm's point but had concerns of his own. "It's how we do it – he's so slippery I'd prefer to avoid an agent provocateur accusation." He was about to add more cheerfully, "Still there's always the fall back of hiring a hitman," but the words remained unspoken. Malcolm was about as straight down the line as was possible for an MI5 employee, and therefore not might not take that suggestion well; at present. Give him a few more days with Giles and objection he might waive if the prospect of pushing the git over a cliff edge came to shove.

The pause had given Malcolm an opportunity to ask a question that mirrored his growing doubts, "I know we decided it was certain that Gavrik would bite but suppose he's wily. Suppose he decides it's a bit too good to be true."

Harry almost chortled, "I'm relying on the temptation to buy the most respected media outlet in the world overcoming caution. Given the opportunity to twist it to produce Russian propaganda under government licence, you've more chance of finding a heatwave in the Arctic than Gavrik resisting." Grabbing a breath he continued before Malcolm, via a reference to the global warming debate, could contest this assertion, he added, "And what really matters is catching Giles trying to pass on the information."

Even so Malcolm persisted. "So if he doesn't and Gavrik isn't interested."

Although this conversation was becoming circular and irritating Harry managed to retain his temper, after all the effort Malcolm had put into the operation, a near overwhelming tiredness indicated by the dark rings around his eyes, it was the least he could do as he assured his wearied colleague, "I'll find a Plan B."

By now they were nearing the church, a white grey brick Georgian job set slightly away from the road, surrounded by black iron railings, that had once enclosed an even wider space, before the graveyard fell victim to the ever encroaching need to build. Now the once sylvan surroundings had been reduced to just a couple of trees whose soot laden leaves, remnants of an allegedly more gracious age, rippled bravely in the slight breeze. As they approached the pillared portico Harry, ever alert, suddenly put his hand on Malcolm's arm to halt him. Malcolm managed to avoid jumping in shock at this action, wondering if Harry had taken seriously Alec's joke, (at least Malcolm trusted it was a joke) that they could pass for a gay couple and was therefore intending to proceed on that basis. He hoped not, no one would ever regard Harry as feminine so by default it would fall to Malcolm to play the wife. While Malcolm's personal record with women was not exactly prolific he wasn't sure that he could adopt the persona that cover would require.

Consequently he almost sagged with relief when Harry withdrawing his arm nearly as quickly as he'd placed it, hissing quietly, "Wait Malcolm, that's Ruth approaching, let her get in and settled, we don't want her running now do we."

Taking Harry's hint Malcolm obediently stepped back into the greying shadows of the surrounding building. Harry always plotting and rarely content to idle broke the silence to enquire, "Malcolm those tickets…have you…"

Yet another task he'd been given, Malcolm nodded, really if he had much more loaded on him he'd have to give up the luxury of sleep altogether, which, like most luxuries, was predicated by its increasing rarity value.

The cool interior of the church, with its gallery and plain white washed walls could almost have been an auditorium. A simple altar stood at the far end of the building fenced away from the main action by a wooden, loving polished, communion rail, at present almost obscured from sight by the orchestra whose members were tuning the strings and woodwind. Elsewhere up in the organ gallery an unknown individual was practising a few of Handel's more ornate flourishes. A row of empty seats placed just in front of the cacophonous musicians were presumably awaiting the eventual appearance of the vocalists.

As visiting hoi polloi Harry and Malcolm were greeted by a steward at the door, who having noted that they were already in possession of a music score apiece, enquired 'Tenor or baritone' and then directed them to the tenor area. Settling his backside on the uncushioned wood Harry wondered why churches were so hung up on retaining uncomfortable seating. Between bum numbing pews and the frequency with which the Anglican liturgy required members of the congregation to drop to their knees it was small wonder that church attendance was in decline. In a secular age the concept of spiritual uplift and future salvation was no longer adequate compensation for the more immediate prospect of physical deformity.

Accepting that this discomfort was what he'd opted for, Harry having shed his outdoor coat, cast his eyes over toward the opposite side of the church. Where was Ruth? It took him few moments to spot her seated with the mezzo sopranos, her small frame being overshadowed by the larger ladies placed towards the central aisle. Having finally spied her profile, her eyes fixed rigidly on her own score he felt a quick frission of uplift, it was good to see her, it would be even better to speak to her, but he'd have to wait for the interval, all of which was making him impatient for the music of the night to kick off.

His wish was granted as, with a ripple of applause, the soloists entered. Judging by their youth they were probably students from one of the music colleges gathering experience in public singing. Harry had no objection to that, everyone started somewhere. Opening his score he awaited the first chords of the evening.

Across on the other side of the church Ruth Evershed sandwich seated between two groups of people who had come together was trying to disguise her sense of solitude by gazing around the church. Placed towards the far side of the aisle she had turned her intent gaze upon the various monuments that were fixed in serried ranks along the walls. In keeping with the austere colour and redolent of the era they mainly consisted of grey or white marble wall plaques inscribed with long winded encomiums to the beloved dead in now obscure Latin. They did little to lift her spirits. In an attempt to see something, anything more cheering, she turned her gaze towards the other side of the church hoping desperately that no one would catch her eye and assume that she was on the prowl for a partner. Suddenly her casual glance transformed into something more forensic, surely it couldn't be….Malcolm! What on earth. Before she could mentally finish articulating that thought she recognised the figure seated beside him…..Horatio Prince! Unbidden the quick shot of pleasure ran through her was succeeded almost immediately by a work instilled wariness….why…had she strayed into an operation, surely not! As the opening chords swelled Ruth was almost oblivious to the sound as she mentally filed through section operations that she cogniscent of, coming up with a big fat zero to explain the presence of the pair. A black operation, she found that difficult to believe of the upright Malcolm. Friends then, and what sort? The more obvious assumption she discarded immediately. Although well aware that macho men could be thus inclined, instinct advised her that Horry, Harry ... whoever the hell he was, didn't fancy men. Not that he had made any moves towards her; but then he was a good few years older than herself. Which was a shame as she'd rather enjoyed their earlier meeting and chat, she rarely encountered a man of her own age who enjoyed or entered into her interests.

Had she but known it as she exercised an effort of will to focus her unruly thoughts on the swelling themes of the music she was mirroring Harry, who was struggling with an almost identical reaction. Despite the glorious cadences erupting from the altar area and the vigour with which the audience joined the choruses both, having functioned for the duration on a form of melodic autopilot for the hour, greeted the interval with a mental early celebration of the Hallelujah chorus, and headed for the refreshments, subtly timing their mutual approach to ensure that their paths crossed casually.

It fell almost inevitably to Malcolm to kick start the accidental astonishment. 'Hello Ruth," Reading the sceptical flash from her eyes he concluded that there was not a chance she'd buy that their presence in this hallowed place was a sheer coincidence, so by way of improvisation he turned to Harry with an accusing eye as he chided his undercover boss, "Harry…". Harry, quick to recognise Malcolm's intent – until recently he'd never realised what a superb actor Malcolm could be - produced his most charming smile as he commented, "Well Malcolm I will admit that Ruth mentioned this venue to me, but I did think it would make an ideal occasion for an incognito meeting."

While offered as an explanation Ruth was also most gasping with the joint emotions of pleasure and shock. Not only had she apparently strayed into a black operation but the two men were here because Harry had wanted to see her again….why…and… Malcolm recognising that this was his moment to play his part rose yet again to the challenge. "Harry and I met up regularly just to exchange news and views. He often has useful Intel from his various sources. It is however advisable to do so in a public place."

From Ruth's expression Harry divined that she was trying to puzzle out the story underlying this story. On this issue Harry's personal jury was out, as he tried to decide whether this level of scepticism was a good or bad trait. Once he was restored to Section D good for the service, but at present her relentless quest for the truth could pull down the whole delicate edifice of the operation.

Supporting Malcolm's fiction he added his smidgeon to the tale. "I work as a private detective." Ruth almost glared at them. "So you break client's confidences!"

Registering her indignation Harry could see why Malcolm approved of her – both birds of an honest feather - but at the moment this was not helping the scheme designed to win her confidence. "Only, absolutely only, when it is a matter of important state security."

Malcolm chimed in helpfully, "What Harry isn't telling you is that as a result of his work we often manage to save politicians blushes and halt major security breaches." Glancing at his watch he noted that the interval time was ticking away so added hastily, "And Ruth you can trust Harry – we wouldn't even be here if Harry Pearce hadn't sanctioned our contacts."

Ruth wasn't going enquire about Giles' view of this procedure. Malcolm had omitted any reference to that piece of Intel, and she wasn't going to ask for enlightenment….the man standing beside her, who had obviously wanted to engineer this meeting, was much more to her personal taste than the smug critical bastard who rarely acknowledged her presence. Harry meanwhile was debating as to how exactly he could dump Malcolm, who having served his purpose was now cast as the third who created the crowd. Instinct was informing him that being rude to Malcolm wouldn't further his case with Ruth…on the other hand courting her under Malcolm's beady Methodist eye wasn't going to get him far either.

It was a dilemma solved when a further female voice floated over saying with a tone of bright astonishment, "Why Malcolm Wynne-Jones…where have you been hiding recently?"

Malcolm wasn't the only one to whirl around and be greeted by the sight of an attractive blonde woman with a pair of sparkling brown eyes smiling at the individual thus addressed.

Nervously Malcolm just avoided stuttering, "Hello Sarah…I thought you were still out of the country?

"Just back sweetie….but do let's find a quiet corner before the singing starts again."

Turning her face she with a falsely apologetic tone she informed Harry and Ruth, "Do excuse us but we need to catch up." With that she grabbed Malcolm's hand and virtually towed him across the nave towards a small side chapel. Harry meanwhile, although considering how he would tease Malcolm later, parked his own curiosity….he remembered Sarah, or more accurately signing off Malcolm's S24 form, one of the few he'd ever submitted. The interruption was fortunate in more than one way. Hopefully it would dispel any lingering suspicions that he and Malcolm were gay. For now he though he could do worse than copy Sarah, so saying to the bemused Ruth, "Just a moment", he elbowed his way to the refreshment table, grabbed two glasses of red wine, vintage indifferent, and returned to Ruth, suggesting politely, "Shall we move over there where it is less crowded."

Ruth herself was nothing loath and they fetched up on the opposite of the church to Malcolm and Sarah, standing next to a rather large and splendid Georgian monument, inevitably all white marble and latin inscriptions with the figure of the deceased, clothed as the noblest Roman of them all, standing in smug solitary majesty beneath a pediment bearing a couple of plump cherubs, whose excessive chubbiness that would have the present day childhood anti obesity campaigners screaming with horror. Ruth, not sure what to say, chose to sip her wine and decipher the inscription, while Harry remaining silent was drinking in the sight of her. Over the past couple of days or so, especially when he'd been fulfilling his contract with Jane, he'd wondered if he'd exaggerated her eyes, but standing beside her he was struck afresh by their sparkle and changeability, and, now he saw her in smart evening clothing, she also had rather a good figure. Remembering that he was here to win her confidence, not seduce her, bad move she was a member of his staff after all, he pushed down the thought that was persistently wriggling through his brain – how far would those eyes dilate and darken in the throes of passion.

Keen to avoid any hint of going where no boss should, mentally let alone physically, he hurried to find a topic of conversation, turning his eyes to the inscription he mirrored her action remarking lightly, "So Sir Joshua was a paragon of all the virtues, chaste, charitable, a fair employer, loved by all, father of ten, his passing lamented by everyone."

Ruth after a start of astonishment, very few people she knew read Latin, commented, "So perfect he must have been a pain in the neck". The touch of acid in her voice amused Harry as he wryly replied, "Well I don't suppose they could write he was a self satisfied censorious old bastard who knew full well that everyone had no option other than to put up with him. If he inflicted ten pregnancies on his wife I bet she at least sighed with relief."

After a quick recheck Ruth was forced to contradict that assertion, "According to this she never ceased to mourn him and remained a widow."

Harry's interest in historical relationships was tepid. His preference was to live in the present, as exemplified by the interesting woman in front of him. Matching Ruth's cynicism he argued, "In public yes but possibly a merry one in private. Never mind them Ruth I feel I owe you an explanation as you might think I was stalking you."

"And were you?"

"Yes and no."

Her confusion, following so quickly after her comments on the subject of Sir Joshua was a contrast Harry found adorable and intriguing. So sure in some areas and then so nervous. Harry moved on quickly. "I managed to get a couple of tickets for the King Lear and I wondered if you would like one of them."

"Is this a date?"

"Not exactly – I'll sell the other on if you prefer, but I would very much like your permission to accompany you, and dinner first of course."

"Err", Ruth was a conflict of emotions, she was attracted to him she had to admit, but was this wise and she didn't really know him, on the other hand he was a friend of Malcolm and..

Harry decided not to push it any further, "Can I suggest, you think about it. Why don't you meet me for lunch one day next week, public place, no strings."

Ruth thought for a second and then nodded, "Yes I would like that." Then with a barely hidden eagerness that cancelled out her caution and sent Harry thrilling asked, "Which day?"

Without hesitation, but not wanting her to take flight by seeming to rush, Harry suggested a weekend pause in pursuing their acquaintanceship, "Tuesday?" accompanied by his handing over his contact card, the one Malcolm had made to support his legend. "If you find that is impossible due to work commitments just text me." Second guessing her next question he continued, "I'll get your number from Malcolm and arrange to meet you when I've booked a table."

Ruth was half inclined to sheer back as she wasn't quite certain that his plan connected with the spook manual for relationships, but then this was only lunch, she still had to decide about the theatre, and Malcolm has said Harry Pearce would vouch for the man she was talking to. But even so...

At this precise point the arrival of the orchestra heralded the second part of the evening. Meaning that Ruth was forcibly released from Harry's toils before she could voice her reservations, while Malcolm, also materialising from his equally unexpected encounter, arrived back at his seat looking just a trifle flustered. So flustered he nearly sat down on his music score which was rescued from being imprinted on his descending bottom by Harry who handed it over with a grin.

"There you are sweetie."

Beyond that mild tease Harry, although curious to know if anything uncanonical had been discussed in the side chapel, nobly refrained from asking Malcolm if 'The Messiah' was his only score of the evening. It wasn't tact that made Harry hold his tongue, he simply didn't fancy receiving a reciprocal grilling over his intentions with Ruth.

Not that he had any of course.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated.**_


	17. Chapter 17: The Weekend

Once again apologies for the wait. I'm posting as a birthday treat for me - I can stop rewriting endlessly for one day at least. I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed and wish everyone, even if they hate the story, a Happy Easter.

* * *

 **The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't**

 **Because we see it, but what we do not see**

 **We tread upon and never think of it. Act 2 Sc 1 24-26**

The weekend, or as Giles' posho soon to be in laws would have phrased it, Friday to Monday, had arrived. For Giles himself this had suddenly ceased to be good news. Released for three halcyon days from the ongoing requirement to give Chastity a through seeing, he'd intended to celebrate his freedom by loitering either in ' _Touchstones_ ', or alternatively visit the exclusive and discreet establishment that occasionally catered to his more specialised intimate demands. On the basis of the 'best laid schemes etc' these plans had been blasted into fantasy land courtesy of an urgent phone call from his prospective future mother in law just after dawn on Saturday morning. With the unexpected late Friday evening arrival of Chastity's twin sister Charity at the country domicile their mother was now facing the unforgiveable social disaster of being a man short for her dinner party, so ' _wouldn't it be just lovely if Giles could find time to visit and renew his acquaintanceship with Charity_ '. Despite the manner of its posing this was not in fact a question, it was a command, and Giles, even if he could have summed up the strength, knew better than to argue with the crystalline county tones that had sliced so painfully through his hangover. Inwardly he'd indulged himself in a revenge smirk at her ignorance. Chastity's bossy mater was totally unaware that he already knew Charity very well indeed, so well in fact that it added a certain piquant tone to the next couple of nights even if a threesome was out of the question...or maybe...Chastity was very pliant and Charity has quite a reputation as a fun loving girl. Sadly he pushed the idea aside, it wouldn't do to blot his copy book with the parents before the marriage ... afterwards...he'd see. As Giles packed his bags he was thankful that he'd been afforded the leisure of the previous night, a window of solo opportunity he'd seized to ensure that his Touchstones debts would finally be cancelled. That matter should be resolved within the next fortnight, leaving him to contemplate a future that was bright; top dog of Section D, friend of influential persons, decorative if boring wife, he was firmly headed to the top. Next stop the DG.

* * *

While Giles was planning his dazzling future in another part of old London town Harry, Malcolm and Alec were equally absorbed in shafting Giles' vision in favour of their own. A vision that was apocalyptic to Giles' anticipated trajectory to say the least. Had they not been so exhausted they might have been punching the air. They had set the trap and, in a not so pure coincidence, at the very moment during which Harry and Malcolm had been vigorously singing the Hallelujah chorus, Giles had walked straight into it. The purpose of the meeting; to review and plot the next stage of their operation.

It was Harry who just about summed up the situation, "So while he's lording it in Section D doing the great ' _I am'_ he is actually betraying his country."

Alec was a tad more temperate, although not a whit less cynical, "Well he's not the first. His political chums betray it every time they sell out to big business and market forces." Adding conversationally, "Have you been up North recently?"

Malcolm, while privately feeling that Alec had a point, nonetheless contradicted him in part, "Alec there is a crucial difference. While the tabloid press can hold the politicians to account, should journalists ever get a whiff of what Giles is up to…" His sentence wasn't left hanging for long as Harry picked up the argument.

"Exactly – it might possibly form the greatest scandal since Burgess, Maclean and Blunt." Shutting his eyes as if to blot out a nightmare he asked, "Can't you just see it, enquiries that last for years, committees checking out our political correctness," and before Alec could protest he added, "Not to mention the ending of the casual working contracts offered to ex spooks of dubious repute."

Alec held up his hand in a gesture of surrender, "Okay I get it. My self interest is tied up with us quietly disposing of Giles. So what happens next, assuming my decoding of the messages sent out from ' _Touchstones'_ yesterday was accurate."

Malcolm glad to return to the topic in hand, especially as Alec had voiced one vital question that so far had remained dormant in all their discussions, nodded, "You were more or less correct Alec – a few lost words on your initial report but I've managed to run my own programme and retrieved them."

Harry for whom tiredness was kicking in -, after parting with Malcolm the previous evening he'd had a summons to Jane's and felt obliged by circumstance to expend considerable time and energy on extending her education - asked, "So the final translation." Aware that weariness had made him sound more peremptory than usual he added a quiet. "Please."

Malcolm after a memory refreshing glance at his notes informed his colleagues. "The message when fully decoded said, "Asset has top quality information on tender for sale of the national broadcaster. Wants exchange for total wipe out of debts. Please advise."

Harry suddenly felt energised as he chortled, "So the trap is sprung." Impatiently adding, "Any idea how long before we get a reply?" as he looked towards Alec, the expert on all things Serge.

"Sorry Serge, or rather you, are not the first contact. Seemingly Gavrik usually sends a message back to ' _Touchstones_ ', Giles gets called in and then a date is set for an information swap. Whoever is inhabiting Gavrik's flat, currently you, gets contacted later. We could have to wait a few days."

"Although we should get something from the _'Touchstones_ ' feed once Gavrik has decided." That last was directed towards Malcolm, who responded with the depressing caveat, "But he might want to check for other whispers first."

Harry knowing what a cautious bastard Ilya was felt inclined to agree with Malcolm's assessment. To the best of Harry's knowledge Ilya's sole exception of accepting Intel without question had been to trust the treacherous Elena, but of that idiocy Harry had been equally guilty. It was only due to sheer chance that Jim Coaver had caught a glimpse of Elena whisking her way out of a known KGB safe house. Without that piece of luck the truth about Elena and her machinations might never have emerged. Still scarred by the memory of that foolishness, not a mistake Harry had ever repeated, since then he'd kept any relationships clinical and professional, like the one with Jane. Emotions were messy. Harry still felt a degree of guilt whenever he considered the result of the necessary unmasking, even though he and Jim had connived at its creating. Lost in his temporary reverie he was jolted back into the present by Malcolm's asking,

"Harry when we do finally get all the evidence we need what exactly is going to happen to Giles?"

Alec, knowing that he'd have to return to Connie's dull and dry establishment, homesick for his own comfortably sordid flat where he could entertain dubious women, drink all he liked, and scratch his balls without an audience before finally crashing out among the beer cans, grimly commented, "Who cares."

Malcolm ignored him as he continued to stare at Harry while outlining the options as he saw them. "Well we can't expose him publicly, you've already outlined what the result would be.. Surely we can't let him off the hook privately. Six months and his contacts will see him rehabilitated, and with his high profile he can't just disappear."

Harry responded with an evil smile, "Please don't worry Malcolm the action will be above board." Alec with a knowing smirk chimed in, "Or will at least seem to be." Malcolm instantly pokered up as Harry hastily disabused him of the implication he'd erroneously read into Alec's intervention, "No Malcolm Alec doesn't know either."

"Agreed, but I do know you Harry. When it comes to dealing with people who damage the country your actions make a screw look like a ruler."

Anxious to move away from further interrogation, Alec and Malcolm knew him a little too well, which wasn't a help with what he had to say next, Harry informed them, "Anyway I think Giles is up to something shady independently of Gavrik."

He'd caught their interest as he explained, "I believe I mentioned that Jane Townsend had agreed to act as an asset." Taking a breath he passed on the fruits of Jane's enquiries, "It seems that Giles had been trying to discover information about shares and directorships in defence companies, now in the last two days he's suddenly switched the focus to media, particularly…"

Malcolm was ahead of him, "Let me guess, media companies Gavrik might have an interest in." Followed by, with an air of the suffering inevitable "Do you want me to check, I'd assume he's using intermediaries and other forms of secrecy."

Harry had the grace to look abashed, "I know it's extra work but…."

Alec much as he enjoyed winding up old sobersides, aka Malcolm, had noticed the increasing tiredness in his colleagues voice. Attempting to come to Malcolm's aid he proffered a suggestion. "Connie used to specialise in tracking the old financial trail – could you set her up with the necessary? It would give her something to do."

Harry couldn't resist the riposte, "Beyond trying to reform you I suppose."

Malcolm grateful for the lifting of some of his load intervened a touch more cheerfully. "A task beyond even Connie's skills, so yes I could.." pausing he queried, " If you are agreeable Harry."

"Why not, she's involved anyway."

Permission granted Malcolm swiftly swung into verbal action. "Very well Alec when you return tell her to log on via the secure link and I'll send her the various downloads. Adding as a sudden afterthought, "But not tonight. I'm otherwise occupied."

In response to Alec's mocking, "Gosh a date for Malcolm, or do you just want some sleep. Well don't let me hold you up." With that he departed while Harry remained silent….waiting until the door had snapped shut before asking, "Do I gather that your S24 form needs updating?"

"Only if I tell the Head of Section D formally." Turning the current situation to his advantage Malcolm reminded Harry, "And that's Giles, so really I'd prefer not."

Harry shot his friend a warm smile, "Understood – but please do keep me informed about his antics, especially with regard to Miss Evershed."

Malcolm wasn't deceived by the formality, he'd noticed an unexpected softening in Harry's eyes as her name was passed his lips. It was only the very real affection he'd conceived for Ruth that lead him to risk saying, "Harry please be careful – I suspect she might be little more vulnerable that she admits to."

Harry wasn't going to argue that one, it might betray his own close observations regarding the lady in question. He'd spent the previous night, after he'd parted from Malcolm, screwing Intel out of Jane as well as screwing full stop. Despite his long honed skill in compartmentalising his thoughts, while trying to concentrate on the latter activity he'd been mentally haunted by a pair of large blue eyes attached to a face, that if not classically beautiful, was arresting. Not wishing share these details he simply re-joined with, "You watch your step with Sarah and I'll make sure that I protect Ruth from harm. That is truly my only motive." A disclaimer that Malcolm instantly discounted in favour of wondering exactly who Harry was trying to fool, himself or Malcolm.

* * *

If the three amigos were having a testing time it was nothing compared to Ruth's weekend. She'd arrived back at her flat almost walking on air as she replayed in her mind the events of the evening. In theory she was still deciding about lunch with Harry, but in reality she knew she'd decided within about ten seconds of his asking her, as she also knew she'd be accepting his escort to the theatre. Her hesitation had not been conditioned solely by the thought that while Ruth was in no way a tease it was probably wise not to seem over eager. It was also because while she didn't quite bracket Harry into the _'mad, bad and dangerous to know'_ category of males, commonsense informed her that a private detective had secrets and therefore might not be the safest person with whom to hang out. Another consideration was that he was almost certainly more experienced at this sort thing than her, he couldn't really be less so. Ultimately though it was not her Saturday morning overthinking of the Harry situation accompanied by those pettifogging reservations that were blighting her day.

Her euphoria relating to the events of the previous evening had not been destined to last. Waking up she'd planned a leisurely Saturday. So far so good, until her breakfast, a lingering meal composed of eggs, toast and coffee was interrupted by her phone. A quick look at the caller display nearly made her delete the call unanswered but that of course was not Ruth's way. Picking it up she tried to sound bright and carefree, perhaps she'd misjudged and it was a purely social call and not a harbinger of some troublesome disaster, as she intoned "Yes Mum." Ten minutes later she was trekking across London on a mercy mission that made her ponder the interesting theory as to whether murder was such an appalling crime after all.

Her stepfather having rung her stepbrother Peter the inadequate drunkard, had received no reply at first. Worried he'd persisted and eventually at about the tenth attempt Peter had picked up but the slurred speech with which he answered suggested that he'd begun drinking again…. so could Ruth possibly….yes of course she could. Motivated not by a need to help Peter but to spare their elderly parents further worry she'd terminated the call in favour of seizing her coat and handbag, all the while wishing that legally she could also grab a cosh. Despite the job she'd recently plunged into Ruth abhorred violence but, as she fought her way to Pete's flat through the endless crowds of weekend shoppers and tourists, all fighting for space on the tube and pavements, she was rethinking her position, especially when she suspected that the casual fingers brushing against her bottom as a shabby bloke pushed past her on the tube carriage was no accident but instead an inexpert attempt to feel her up.

When she finally arrived at her destination she received no reply to her attempts to gain entrée to Pete's lair. Wearied of ringing a tattoo on the door bell and not wanting to hang around the area, for which the word insalubrious would have been regarded as a compliment, she took advantage of the key that she had had sneakily cut when Peter moved in. Entering a communal hallway she trudged up to the second floor to reprise her door bashing activity. After what felt like an age but probably seemed longer that it actually was, - a misapprehension attributable to due to her growing feeling of alarm - she heard a shuffling sound, followed by a tentative scraping as if someone was having problems trying to locate the lock on the opposite side of the wooden panel. Eventually a creak announced success as the door was eased open a small way, due she noted to a security chain preventing its being swung wide. By now impatience and irritation were trumping concern as she snapped,

"Pete it's me Ruth." A statement that produced the unattractive sight of a brown bloodshot eye as a voice quavered uncertainly, "Ruth. It really is you."

Ruth had just about had enough as she replied, "No I'm a mirage. Now are you going to let me in or do I have to stand here all day."

By way of answer the door was shut. For a moment Ruth thought she would have to make good her threat until it was opened fully. Realising that Pete had shut the door to remove the chain she stepped gingerly over the threshold. Her caution was not worry about what Pete would do,.he'd never been a violent drunk, but he had been known to skimp on the home hygiene when on a bender so she wondered about the scene she was about to be greeted with. In fact she had no need to worry. At first glance the flat was passably clean and if it wasn't quite in the league of a 'place for everything and everything in its place' it was simply untidy in a minor way, although a vague smell that owed nothing to air freshener seemed to be lingering in the atmosphere. In fact the most shambolic thing in view appeared to be Pete himself was stumbling his way back towards the sitting room. An unshaven picture of dejection in dirty jeans and creased shirt.

Following him Ruth noted that while the sitting room, like the entrance area, was orderly, the kitchen whose door was open, seemed to be in need of some attention. A further glance informed her that a few bottles were scattered around the room and Pete, now drained of energy, presumably as a result of his long trek to the door and back, was now lying back against the sofa in an attitude of total exhaustion. It didn't take Ruth's formidable analyst skills to work out that it was unlikely that she'd manage to prise to any sensible conversation out of him any time soon. Nor did she fancy sitting looking at him, not when she saw enough pictures of the depressing in her normal day's work

Stripping off her gloves and coat Ruth decided that if she was not prepared to dispense tea and sympathy, coffee might be in order. Not awaiting permission she entered the kitchen wrinkling her noise at the opened cans left lying and the three days worth of dishes pile left carelessly in the sink, the congealed contents of which allowed her to assess that Peter had been living primarily off baked beans and beer. That, she thought grimly, explained the smell she'd detected earlier, it was a wonder that Pete wasn't literally gone with wind. It reminded her of the old puzzle that asked if it was possible for a flatulent individual in an airtight room to be gassed by his own farts – the answer was of course no – but just in case she opened the kitchen window before she set about cleaning the place up.

Twenty minutes later she thought she'd earned her coffee. Carrying two mugs into the room she thrust one in front of Peter who had managed to at least open his eyes as she shortly informed him, "Here, drink this and then tell me what you are playing at."

Heaving himself upright Pete slowly drank the coffee which seemed to have the effect of making him maudlin as he muttered, "I don't know – everything seemed wrong so I just…"

"Decided to drink yourself to death again."

He didn't deny it as he stuttered, "It's just.. well if they press charges I could go to prison and I'd never survive that. I'd kill myself first."

Ruth tried to be bracing as she ignored this threat to remind him, "First of all Pete they haven't made decision about that have they?"

"NO but,…"

"And you didn't actually commit a major crime so really …"

"But I've been told that as it threatened Royal security and …."

"Pete even if it was prison, and that is unlikely, it would only be for a short time."

"Ruth I can't face it, I'm useless, I'd be better off dead, no one wants me and I'm just a nuisance."

Looking at his weeping brown eyes Ruth felt inclined to agree as she suppressed the image of the last pair of male eyes of that had gazed directly at her. The contrast between the self assured Harry and Peter was too painful to be borne, nor was it helpful when she needed to formulate a strategy to drag Peter out of his despondency.

Ruth sighed, she couldn't leave Peter like this. Which meant that it was going to be a long afternoon as she sacrificed herself on the altar of family need.

"How long since you went out Pete, I mean not just to buy some food."

"I dunno, no one wants me and…"

Before he could continue in his depressive vein Ruth interrupted,

"Pete how about we go out for lunch, and then take in a film, you can choose."

While nothing on earth was going to make Peter smile he did seem to perk up a touch, "Do you mean that Ruth?"

Honesty would have made Ruth inform him that she'd rather have a double root canal operation on her teeth sans pain relief. Instead she resigned herself to the inevitable as she lied with just enough brightness calculated not to seem false, as she laid down her terms and conditions.

"Of course – but Pete could you shave first and change your clothes."

She wouldn't of course transform him into anything resembling the man who was booked to wine and dine her but at least she could try to imagine during the meal, and surely even Pete would have to stop whining in the cinema.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment over the next few days a review would be appreciated**_


	18. Chapter 18: The Lunch date

_**Many thanks to my readers for their ongoing patience. Extra thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. We progress - I think!**_

* * *

 **To give me secret harbour hath a purpose**

 **More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends**

 **Of burning youth. Act 1 Sc 3 Lines 4-6**

If the weekend had proved irritating for those involved in the black operation, either as its unwitting subject, an active operative or, in the case of Ruth, the individual who had accidentally and unknowingly become entangled in its fringes, the first two days of the working week were not much of an improvement. For most of the afflicted the key note was tedium, whether this was flavoured with uncertainty or annoyance being dependent upon the twin factors of temperament and circumstance.

Overall Alec was probably the most contented of the group, although it would be an exaggeration to state that he was enjoying life in Connie's rural pad. While admittedly she didn't exactly lecture him about brushing his hair and teeth her schoolmarm persona had a tendency to set the latter on edge. However since he'd nominated her as Malcolm's little helper she become too heavily involved in demonstrating that her analyst chops were still in prime working order to indulge in waste time sparring with Alec. An improvement that compensated for the fact that now she was otherwise occupied the entire task of caring for Serge, and keeping him amused fell to Alec. Fortunately Serge, like many spooks, played an excellent game of poker, so he and Alec were able to support one another through the long hours that ticked past so slowly. For Alec the big down side to this activity was that in obedience to Harry's rules for maintaining secrecy he was forced to play cards seated inside a well heated underground bunker while snuggly wrapped up in a balaclava and gloves. In fact from where the wool and leather shrouded Alec was positioned this seemed to be an increasingly unnecessary security protocol. Their captive guest, after a couple of weeks of enforced contemplation, was now giving every indication of accepting that making a run for it would place him in the invidious position of having both Pearce and Gavrik hot on his heels. Serge's main concern therefore, apart from not losing his shirt to Alec, was to seek reassurances regarding the protection of his family in Russia. A not unreasonable stance that forced a reluctant Alec into attempting a meaningful dialogue with Connie.

Connie, while prepared to confirm that Serge's wife and daughter were safe, and that an extraction plan was in place, wasn't inclined to expand further, "Until this is over - if I say too much and it goes belly up so does my network in Russia'. The possessive indicating to Alec exactly why, despite her status as a semi disgraced spook, Harry had insisted on Connie being paid a retainer. Obviously she was a conduit to one of Harry's own private networks, a fact probably unknown to the ultimate paymasters Dolby and Co. Connie had unbent sufficiently to add, "Now leave me to get on with this, I've discovered some very dubious transactions indeed." With an evil grin, that echoed the one Harry occasionally allowed himself, she almost chortled, "This should give Harry something on most of the government for the next ten years." While Alec didn't doubt her findings, Connie never boasted unnecessarily, he did express the view, "I'm surprised Malcolm hasn't discovered that." Connie had her loyalties, "Malcolm is far too busy to trawl without purpose, I've got the time."

* * *

Several miles away over in the Grid Giles was also experiencing women problems. Having been forced to spend the weekend trying to charm a group of possibly the most boring persons on the planet his reward for good behaviour had been a big fat zilch. Stuck under the ancestral roof Chastity had reverted to the persona of a Victorian maiden. His sole physical contact with her being confined to a peck on the cheek, while Charity, his pencilled in second string, had spent the evening ignoring Giles in favour of flirting outrageously with the balding, but wealthy, owner of the neighbouring estate. Furious with this offhand treatment Giles had oozed into Thames House with every intention of inviting the red haired receptionist who had caught his eye up to the Grid to discuss her prospects, with especial reference to those attributes perkily confined with the 'Hello Boys' bra. Unfortunately this plan had been stymied the instant he arrived. Having been admitted by the security guard - really the absurdity of having to show his pass when everyone knew who he was - he'd approached the reception desk flashing his most dazzling smile, to be confronted not by the Venus of the ground floor, but the individual who normally guarded the like desk at Legoland, known colloquially to all at Six as 'Miss Trunchbull'. Dressed smartly, she possessed a figure that while sporting a large pair of breasts was less glamorously accompanied by dimensions that forced her to patronise an outsize outfitters, topped by a face that was not enhanced by an incipient moustache and shoot to kill eyes.

Seeing Giles approach she contorted her features into what she may have believed was a smile, but translated into a teeth bearing grimace, as she asked politely, "Can I help you?"

With what Giles had been planning the answer was of course no, but as his original would be charming expression dissolved into shock he managed to just about enquire in an even tone, "Just wondering where Amanda is?"

From the weary response that came in reply he was obviously about the twentieth person to have asked this.

"Temporary transfer to Six."

"Why"

"Ask Human Resources – they organised it."

From the finality of her tone Giles divined that no further information would be forthcoming as he turned abruptly on his heel and marched towards the lift without further ado, leaving Miss Trunchbull to mutter her considered assessment of his character under her breath. "Wanker".

The two minute journey in the lift did nothing to calm Giles, frustration in every lineament as he stormed into the Grid, past all his staff, without acknowledgment. Not that that bothered most of them, even those lucky persons who'd routinely received a military style dressing down from Harry were avoiding Giles on the basis that Harry's worst kept secret was that he cared about his staff and would defend them to the hilt off Grid. They had all heard the rumours about Giles' attitude to the Senior staff and were not impressed.

Oblivious to this well deserved odium within two seconds of his bottom hitting Harry's chair Giles was bawling down the internal phone, demanding to speak to Deborah Langham.

"I insist on knowing why the receptionist has been moved from the Thames House entrance."

As one well blooded by Harry Pearce's outbursts Deborah Langham was unmoved by this exhibition of wrath. "Internal reasons."

"Which are?"

"Confidential pending investigation."

"Don't be ridiculous I'm a Section Head and need to know."

"Sorry." The infliction stated otherwise, "But that information is redacted. You'll have to go through the DG."

"Be assured I will, and I also want the security staff instructed that I do not need to show my ID – as a Section Head it is ridiculous."

The response was unhelpful. "Harry Pearce insists that all staff must do so, including himself as he must set an example."

"As Head of Section D I am now going to instruct otherwise."

Deborah patently had had enough as she reminded him, with ice that Harry would have recognised and on this occasion approved of, "You are only Acting Head and as such have not got the authority to override a protocol agreed by the DG."

"He will hear of this insolence and also that I am still waiting for a file I requested last week, your department is plainly inefficient."

Before Ms Langham could reply Giles slammed the phone down with a force worthy of Harry himself, although Harry reserved that particular action for more worthy targets, such as the DG or Home Secretary. Had Giles not been so self absorbed a glance through his drawn blinds would have revealed a rare sight. Malcolm sitting quietly at his desk, not strange, with a pair of headphones clapped around his ears, again not strange, but with the shadow of a smirk on his face and a hint of shaking shoulders.

Malcolm was in fact enjoying a brief moment of pleasure as he listened into this conversation, tempered a little by relief that Deborah Langham's source of information that the beauteous Amanda was being subjected to low level sexual harassment had remained unknown. Although Malcolm was confident that this would not be traced back to him - he'd given an anonymous tip off knowing that Deborah Langham would act instantly - he'd also been trading on the internal knowledge that Ms Langham ring fenced her own department with vigour, wielding confidentiality clauses as a shield wall against all comers. Not even Harry tackled her head on, preferring the line of circumvention and procrastination to bend policies to suit his needs. Unless Malcolm very much missed his guess Giles' arrogance had just made another enemy. Removing the headphones before Giles could look out and oblige him to find an excuse for his laughter Malcolm's thoughts returned to the less pleasant issue of how to cope with his current life. In truth he was feeling a tad beleaguered on all sides, secretly running the Grid, placating Giles, dealing with Harry and Alec continually asking if Gavrick was biting, and now Sarah had intruded into the mix. While thankfully she knew something of his job in outline, thereby sparing Malcolm the secrecy that was bedevilling Harry with his quasi wooing of Ruth, he remained unresolved as to his approach to this unexpected development. They had enjoyed a brief romance before Sarah had been transferred abroad, now she was back in the country, and much to Malcolm's modest surprise also wanted to be back in his life. MI5 was not the problem; his mother was…...she may want him to meet a nice girl but her visions rather involved handing him over on her deathbed to someone who would tuck him and cook him nourishing meals, whereas Sarah on a date night wanted to rumple the bedclothes and preferred wining and dining, not necessarily in that order. Malcolm was good at solving puzzles but ironically this one seemed, at present, to be beyond him. His pondering was interrupted by the phone on his desk ringing. Glancing at the number he managed to avoid groaning, what did Giles want now? And how would he circumvent the new leader's latest run of cretinous demands. Normal service was now resumed.

* * *

Harry would never admit to it but by Tuesday morning he was becoming concerned about the progress concerning the plan he'd put into hand to trap Giles. While he appreciated the warnings of both Malcolm and Alec, for once in total agreement that Gavrik would not move quickly, and that the system the cautious Russian had set up was designed for security, and by implication slowness, none the less Harry feared that the operation was becalmed. He'd been undercover before, but time had dulled memories of the total boredom while waiting upon events. In the past that had been slightly ameliorated by the ever present threat of danger and death to keep him focussed, whereas the worst that could be thrown at him this time would be to lose his job -he'd hate that but ultimately it was his lifestyle that was threatened not his life - and anyway Harry was relying upon his vast bank of hidden dirt on various important personages to dig him out of any subsequent trouble. In short he knew too much to be summarily sacked. Not that that had prevented him expressing a certain exasperation as to the delay in action. When he'd said as much to Malcolm the reply had been direct and as blunt as Malcom ever allowed himself to be.

"Do be patient, we know Gavrik is the cautious type."

In truth Harry was restless with little to do other than is interludes with Jane, which had been tailing off a little anyway. In one sense he was thankful as it would make the final break in a few weeks time less painful for her. That it would also make life easier with Ruth becoming his sole feminine focus was not a thought he allowed himself, although he was glad when Tuesday with their promised lunch date finally dawned. He was also buoyed up by information passed via Alec to the effect that Connie, having picked up some of the hints so faithfully reported by the revengeful Jane, had unearthed some very interesting details concerning Giles' contacts, with a pack of government ministers also implicated.

Taking unusual care with his appearance, telling himself it was to ensure that his semi disguise would not be penetrated, he set out for lunch. To avoid the risk of identification he'd arranged to meet Ruth at Cleopatra's needle, near enough for her to make it easily from Thames House but just out of the normal daily beat of many of his acquaintances, who tended not to stray in that direction until home time at the earliest. From there a little further towards the Southwark bridge he'd booked a table at a recently opened restaurant, discreet and not likely be overpopulated at that time of day. He could only hope she hadn't taken fright.

Harry wasn't to know that Ruth, after her trying weekend, was eagerly anticipating the company of a man whose neediness seemed minimal and, she'd admit it, was likely to turn up well groomed and make no demands on her, at least she hoped not…..she thought...…Ruth was in an increasing quandary as to how she felt about Harry, basically he was a mystery. Her meeting with him today would, she hoped, penetrate the clouds that surrounded him a little.

Whatever their individual motives, driven by an attraction that neither was really willing to admit too, they greeted one another with the mild reserve of slight acquaintances, while inwardly glowing with pleasure. Harry, well versed in the nuances of feminine dress, taking in the slightly smarter garb than Ruth had worn on the occasion of their first meeting, concluded that she'd wanted to look good but didn't want to send out the message that she was trying. Conversing on trivialities such as the weather he steered her towards the chosen place for the none date lunch date. Once settled he noted with some amusement that although she seemed confident enough when selecting from the menu and turning down a glass of wine on the basis that she had to return to work, after the waitress had departed her diffidence seemed to return, marked by her downcast eyes and a total absence of any conversation.

"Yes, it is a nice table cloth isn't it."

From the stricken expression in the eyes that jerked up to meet his Harry instantly repented of this opening gambit. Another remark of that nature and she might well take flight. On the plus side she was now looking at him, allowing him yet another view of those extraordinary eyes. Hurriedly, before she could return to her former demeanour, he asked a neutral question

"How long do you have for lunch?"

Knowing full well that in Section D a lunch hour was a luxury. A bag of crisps, a curled up sandwich and energy drink at the desk being the norm, whatever the Health and Safety instructions about food over computers.

Ruth managed to reply with a slight smile, "In theory an hour, but Malcolm said he'd cover for me as my Section Head had gone out for the afternoon."

Behind Harry's impassive countenance his mind was racing. Giles off the Grid was intriguing, this wasn't the day normally selected for a Home Office meeting and as Harry knew, since Malcolm was keeping him fully informed, no emergency had reared its head. Consequently he was wondered what Giles was about. No matter he'd find out as Malcolm was bound to have arranged for the traitor to carry some form of tracking device. Making a mental note to follow this up asap he replied to her remark with,

"Good", moving onto, "Now tell me have you read the critics on the Lear?"

"No but I try not read reviews before I watch a performance." Noting the quirk of his eyebrow she hurriedly explained, almost tripping over her tongue in eagerness to do so, "I don't like to pre judge before I see for myself."

Harry was privately crowing at his decision to offer her the post. This woman was definitely an asset to Section D, sensible, discreet and not likely to bend to any politician's whims, it all added to the attraction. She had to be retained in post for many reasons, and he Harry Pearce, aka Horatio Prince, was now prepared go to considerable lengths, whatever they may be, to ensure that Giles did not drive her out or destroy her.

As he considered Giles and his works Harry's face, for once unguarded, grew stern. It also led to a temporary lull in conversation, to which his attention was recalled by the arrival of the waitress with their meals. Looking across the table he saw, with some concern that Ruth was looking at him questioningly.

"Sorry Ruth – I was miles away."

If this was not the most tactful of responses, implying that he found her company boring, Ruth's uncertainly, if not exactly banished was now accompanied by the sketch of a smile and a surprisingly direct question, given that he was becoming used to her diffidence.

"Was it something I said?"

Harry tempered his reply. "Not exactly – but as I know roughly what you do for a living I'm wondering why you are worried that Harry Pearce won't like you?"

Startled by this reference to their conversation at the Globe and amazed that he'd recalled it, after a moment's hesitation, and a searching look at his face, in which Ruth saw nothing but sympathy and sincerity she took the huge step, for her, of trusting him as she explained,

"Because the temporary head obviously loathes me and I like the job so much that if Harry Pearce …"

She didn't finish as Harry interrupted her, "Ruth I know a little from Malcolm, and I assure you that Harry Pearce is nothing like his temporary replacement and is very unlikely to share his views."

Ruth seemed only mildly reassured, as she commented, "I just wish he was here and in post at present."

Harry was experiencing the unusual temptation to throw caution to the wind and reveal his true identity, but spook training, which entailed the putting of the operation and country before any personal consideration won out. After a ten second war in what passed for his soul he added with total sincerity, "So do I."

At Ruth's curious glance he added, "His being away from the Grid makes my life difficult. It means I can't do normal aspects of my job."

Wanting to change the subject before he was betrayed he added, "Have you proceeded further with joining a choir Ruth?"

"Well yes but as they are preparing for a major concert I'm leaving it for a couple of weeks or so."

After swallowing a mouthful of his food Harry asked. "Does that mean that you'll have time to attend the odd concert with me…we could go and listen to the choir in action as well, see if you think they are good enough to join."

Once again the confusion returned to Ruth's face, "Well are you really sure….. I mean you must be busy with your job and…."

"With Harry Pearce absence from his usual haunts I've a little more leisure than usual so.."

Ruth thought for a few seconds and then nodded, "Yes I would like that."

"Good so if you could give me your mobile number I'll do some digging and see what I can find, and of course on Thursday we have the 'Lear' don't we."

All hesitation gone Ruth nodded and the rest of the meal passed by quickly as the pair discussed their preferences for drama and music, discovering that neither was keen on experiential drama or on audience participation, "Reminds me of a pantomime' being Harry's objection, while Ruth was of the view , "It breaks the idea of suspension of disbelief". Both were a bit ambivalent about nudity, "depends on the play" with Harry adding "and whether the body is worth exhibiting". And, although Ruth has simply given a small smile at that, he instantly began wondering if that statement had been just a little too racy, he didn't want her to worry that he had any untoward intentions.

Parting company about an hour later Harry trusted that Malcolm had managed to cover for Ruth. In summary he considered that he had made substantial progress with her, although juggling Ruth and Jane, plus the operation might call for some fancy footwork in the near future, but he was used to that, and to compartmentalising his life.

Almost as if to confirm that thought when he picked up and switched on his mobile he instantly saw a text from Malcolm,

"Connie's contacts have reported Gavrik sniffing out the possibilities."

Cautious as ever was Malcolm, but for Harry, who knew Ilya of old this indicated that while the eagle had not exactly landed it looked as if Giles was slowly being caught in a net of Harry's weaving.

Giles trapped, Ruth agreeing to be friends and Jane's bed to look forward to tonight. Life was suddenly looking much more satisfactory.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated**_.


	19. Chapter 19: Harry Considers

_**Once again a long time between posting chapters so thank you for your patience. In view of the events in England since I last posted I can only say that I'm glad I'm not writing a fic that includes bombs and terrorists. The side references made to the situation in England were written before both Manchester and London. I've also played slightly with Harry's canon timeline as this fic draws on a slightly younger version than the one we saw on screen.**_

 _ **Anyway I'd like to thank those who read the last chapter and those who reviewed. We move on - slowly.**_

* * *

 **For in her youth**

 **There is a prone and speechless dialect**

 **Such as move men**

 **Act 1 Sc 2 175 - 177**

As he turned the key to enter the nondescript flat, supposedly housing Serge the Russian goffer for Gavrik, Harry could only wish that this was for the final time. Sadly he knew the despite the gradual moving forward of the operation, the key word being gradual, whereas Harry would have preferred speedy, or better still conclusive, the unpalatable fact was that he was likely to be immured here in his undercover persona for some time yet.

Having hung his coat up with military precision on one of the plastic hooks screwed into the flat entrance wall, evidence that Gavrik had skimped on the furnishings, Harry flopped down onto the sofa which, like much else in the place was fairly basic in design, although it did just about serve the basic function of being comfortable. For Serge, accustomed to the lower echelon privations of Russian life, the slightly lumpy upholstery was probably an improvement on his normal living conditions, but Harry accustomed to more luxurious surroundings was beginning to suffer from an acute homesickness for his own house, or even at a pinch his secret flat.

Sitting down he prised open the bottle of whisky he'd bought on impulse when passing the local off licence. Not the ancient matured brand he preferred but it would suffice, a reminder of who he really was. The unmentioned danger of undercover being that you became so subsumed in your character you risked forgetting who you really were and what you were in post to achieve. A mistake he'd made once before. Memory straying he hastily swallowed a mouthful in an attempt to drown out his memories of the porcelain doll faced and totally treacherous Elena. As the whisky began its slow warming of his taste buds he began to ruminate upon the situation as it stood, compartmentalising as was his habit, even when these arbitrary divisions threatened to overlap with dangerous effect.

The Operation: Harry was thought of it in capitals, as was appropriate for something that at present dominated his entire existence, was trundling its stately progress along the trackway laid out by Harry, Malcolm and Alec. In fact Harry had just returned from a hurried meeting with the pair, during which Malcolm had startled them all by suddenly shouting out 'It's live'. Such uncharacteristic excitement on the part of the normally phlegmatic Malcolm was unusual, the explanation being attributed to Alec's laconic, 'one more step to ridding Malcolm of Giles'. An accurate statement that created a sense of instant guilt in Harry, succeeded by the more bracing thought that whatever the efforts and inconvenience involved they remained considerably less than the danger and inconvenience to the nation if the hitherto undetected security risk that was Giles wasn't shut down pdq. In any event the excitement had quickly been followed by a deflation as the message was decoded and absorbed.

With a sigh Malcolm almost groaned, "It would seem that Gavrick requires some further proof." It fell to Alec to articulate the group irritation with this delaying development, "So what does he want– a freebie from Giles – I though Gavrick understood business."

Malcolm occupied temporarily with his decoding waved a hand for silence. He got it, although Alec was festering with frustration, as indeed was Harry, although he concealed it more efficiently. After a couple of very long minutes Malcolm peered up from his laptop.

"The Oracle speaks!" Feeling that Alec's sarcasm wasn't helpful Harry hastily interjected, "Well what's the position Malcolm?"

Malcolm's assessment was more cheery than his accompanying tone implied, "Gavrick wants to know the names of the preferred bidders."

"So we're sunk then!" Harry asked inquisitorially, hoping for the exact opposite.

"Not entirely. I took precautions."

"As the spook said to the …"

"Alec!" Harry intervened aware that Malcolm was looking annoyed.

"Okay sorry. The floor is yours Malcolm."

If Malcolm didn't precisely look grateful he grabbed the silence that descended to elucidate.

"When I produced the document I added a small appendix with details of the three preferred providers. However this stated that the providers are currently in complete ignorance and must remain so until the document has been approved. Any whisper will result in the whole scheme being spiked."

Harry's brow wrinkled a little – "So if Gavrik approaches any of these companies or tries to buy them…" "They'll not know anything and at least he'll get his fingers burnt since the entire plan is a chimera. More immediately also he runs the risk of being referred to the Monopolies Commission."

"And if he leaks it into the public domain?"

"Complete denial of course – Dolby and I will destroy the document, Giles is returned to Six and we find another way to remove him."

Harry nodded his agreement, resolving that Malcolm's last sentence was a predication, and the next method to neutralise their internal enemy would be much less complicated. A hint via one of Connie's Russian contacts that Giles had deliberately tried to defraud Ilya should do the trick. Poison umbrella in the offing then, and serve Giles right.

Malcolm hadn't quite finished, "The timeframe given is tight,and one of the preferred bidders is a certain Antipodean bald headed capitalist who is very cosy with the government."

Alec grinned with genuine amusement, "So at the risk of losing out to that group Gavrick will be galvanised. Nice one Malcolm."

Harry had one more addition to the seemingly interminable questions, "So when does Giles find out about this request?"

"Tonight I think as he seems to have headed for ' _Touchstone_ s.'" Before Alec could ask Malcolm stated, "Car tracker. So the chances are some action will be happening over the next day or so, but Harry you are unlikely to be contacted for a few more days since…"

Harry sighed, "I know. I get contacted for the hand over only after Gavrick and Giles have agreed terms."

With that issue semi resolved Harry had then enquired of Malcolm, "Where did Giles disappear to on Tuesday afternoon?"

Before Malcolm could satisfy Harry's curiosity Alec burst in to express his own,

"How did you know that Harry – breaking cover to lurk around Thames House like a homing pigeon?"

"Ruth I assume." That came from Malcolm of course. Ignoring Alec's raised eyebrow and unbecoming smirk, even if this facial arrangement did accurately reflect Malcolm's own suspicions, he continued. "And in answer to your question Harry, he slipped out for a late morning early afternoon visit to a…." he hesitated as a disapproving expression settled across his features, "a very discreet establishment that caters for gentlemen's more intimate needs."

Harry digesting this was of the view that anyone using such a service had forfeited the claim to be considered a gentleman in any sense of the word. Alec, not one to mince his words interpreted, "so he's visiting an up market knocking shop on work time for some R and R – people have been dismissed for less."

Ignoring Alec, who was plainly considering the circumstances of his own ignominious departure Harry asked, "Which one?"

"Er well this location." Typing the postcode into Google all three men looked at the image that appeared, displaying what seemed to be an ordinary well maintained for five storey property, distinguished from the neighbouring residences only by a metal plate screwed to the wall. The existence of the latter explained by Malcolm, "Registered as a business that provides therapeutic role play for the burnout executive."

"Nicknamed the Kinky Kindergarten as I remember," was Alec's robust comment. Harry whose own views mirrored Alec's was taking the minuscule comfort that if this was how Giles spent worktime at least whoever or whatever he was buggering wasn't Section D.

The end of the session had been signalled by Malcolm snapping shut his laptop with the the words "I'll be in touch as soon as something develops." Alec also departed, muttering something about Connie that it seemed wise to ignore, leaving Harry to wistfully lock up his unacknowledged front door and return to his current domicile.

Having mentally reviewed that strand of his current existence Harry, as the whisky began to perform the required function of allowing him to relax, returned to considering the events of a few nights previously when he'd escorted Ruth to the _'King Lear'_. In truth it had only been one event given that the evening had been bookended by the demands of Section D, but still it had been an emotionally disturbing evening.

Initially he'd been afraid that they might not have made it into the Olivier auditorium, Ruth having texted him to say she had to work late and wasn't sure what time, if any, would see her released from the tolls Section D. Not for the first time Harry had inwardly cursed the inconvenient stranglehold that Thames House exerted on his personal life. Dinner before the show had thus been a non starter with Harry sending back a message to the effect that he'd meet her in the foyer should she be able to attend. Privately he'd not expected her to arrive as Malcolm had also messaged to the effect that the cause of the hold up was a threat that might well escalate to an all out red flash. In the event the potential culprits had been tracked down quickly and London remained safe for the night, as safe as any city could be with a permanent critical warning in place, and Ruth with a beaming smile that made his heart leap, had made through the revolving doorway with about ten minutes to spare before the show started.

Expressing breathless apologies as he steered her to their seats Ruth was startled to discover that they had in fact an excellent view, seated about mid way centre. While she was surveying their surroundings with all the alertness of a trainee spook, Harry the expert spy had been doing his best to ensure that his head was turned away from the relentless focus of any video camera, this being the night that the show was screened to a national and international audience in cinemas around the world. Trying to avoid recognition from anywhere in the four quarters of the globe, head turned in profile towards her as she chatted away excitedly, his attention was more assiduous than that he usually gave to his female companions. She may not have read the reviews, but to compensate had apparently examined chapter and verse on the careers of the cast. Harry, as he responded to her enthusing, had sent up thanks that his enforced leisure time, combined with his growing hunch as to the way Ruth worked, had ensured that he'd also checked out the actors, although he freely admitted not in anything like the same depth. In research terms that was like comparing the village duck pond to Lake Windermere.

All the while the back of his mind had been occupied in trying yet again to work out exactly why she so fascinated him. He'd worked with intelligent women before now, wined, dined and bedded several stunners, enjoyed casual repartee with any number of other females and yet ….what the hell was there about Ruth that was so captivating. Was it that beneath the veneer of confidence she seemed vulnerable and lonely, qualities that he rarely encountered in his workaday world where everyone was encouraged to hide behind a defensive persona? Had he simply met her before she had time to grow that hard shell, or was it that she was calling to factors he'd buried well within his own psyche; the pain that he'd felt when his mother died, the fact that he was totally on his own, solitary with no one to care for him or to care for. Suppressed hurts suddenly exhumed….His internal reverie was broken by Ruth's switching topic to ask,

"How did you get such good seats?"

More or less accurately he informed her, "Contacts, also tonight is less popular because of the cameras, some are worried that it might impede their view."

Once again he suddenly became aware of Ruth's acute intelligence as she shot him a suspicious glance. If she had been tempted to dig further and Harry was prepared to bet that she was preparing to do so, she was stymied by the lights dimming and the descent of silence as the first actors entered. As the opening lines thundered out Harry was mentally perfecting his white lie, the real truth being that his contact was Malcom who had bribed the duty colleague to give up his seats on the grounds that another member of the service had volunteered their presence at the performance. With the growing terrorist threat it was now policy to send an officer to these screenings, lest the prospect of a real time international broadcast of carnage proved an irresistible temptation to the vast underground army of terrorist headbangers. Given that most of MI5 were not Shakespeare fans, certainly not of the tragedies and history plays, they all saw enough gore in the normal run of life, this had not been a difficult task. And Ruth was a member of the service, she wanted to see the play, so in reality an officer was actually present. With that thought Harry had settled down to concentrate on the actors' action, suspecting that the interval and after show would see Ruth requiring an in depth discussion on themes and interpretation.

As fate would have it he was spared that ordeal. Due to Ruth's late arrival he'd not ventured to order interval drinks and the crush at the bar ensured that they only just resumed their seats in time to indulge in a very quick discussion, revolving mainly around the way in which the 'The Fool' had been disposed of.

"I've never seen that done before Harry, but I must admit it does solve the issue of why he vanishes part way through and never reappears."

Thinking about Giles and the limitations his shenanigans were imposing on his current lifestyle Harry's comment held more truth that tact, "It's a pity we can't dispose of all idiots that way." Earning him a reproving reply from Ruth, "The point is he's not a fool, or if he is what does that make everyone else?"

Given that it was Harry's firm assertion that the world was peopled by fools it was as well the recommencement spared him a reply. In truth as the drama progressed he had become increasingly uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. It had been once said to him that everyone took their own life experiences into a play and reacted accordingly, and boy had he reacted. For starters the production's totalitarian regime setting had been uncomfortably reminiscent of the sort of dictatorship he'd been involved in subverting during his time in Six, which didn't exactly make him sympathise with the eponymous character headed on his downwards trajectory, as indicated by the leading man shambling around in his baggy underwear. An unappetising sight that gave Harry, who was all to aware of his own steady progress towards embonpoint, a ghastly hint as to the appearance he himself might present in few years time. Then there were the overarching themes of misjudgement of character, misguided dependence upon unreliable and lying individuals, coupled with the shifting sands of alliances; aka everyday life in the security services. None of this however had come close to matching the aspect of the evening that had really made him squirm; a dubious honour reserved for the scenes featuring the actress playing Regan, whose colouring reminded him forcibly of Elena. An unfortunate resemblance reinforced by the very clear implication that not only was she playing a double game in being unfaithful to her husband and shafting anyone who stood in her way, but also that she was a sex kitten who got turned on by the sight of blood. It was a deception that stimulated Harry's memories of his Berlin years. Technically some of those experiences had taken place as the Cold War had begun to falter under glasnost but as any spook worthy of the name knew that was a political artifice, the war had just gone underground, festering in the Yeltsin years and now revived into full flower under Putin.

The play drew inevitably to its blood splattered ending drawing the applause of the audience, for whom watching people suffer was entertainment, and for Harry a reminder of his real life. Ruth still seemed rapt as they made their way out into the refreshing breeze of the South Bank. Harry was about to cheer himself up with the suggestion that they partook of a late night supper by way of substitution for the cancelled dinner, when her mobile, which she had checked earlier and not switched on again trilled into life. Sighing she looked up from the message, "Sorry but…"

Surrendering to the inevitable Harry forestalled her, "Work I assume."

"Yes I should have been in about thirty minutes ago but Malcolm has covered – said he'd sent me to check something but…"

"It's fine Ruth just go" As she turned to obey, Harry had unexpected reverted to boss mode and having rifled through his memories of his engagements with Jane next week, " _Harry can you do Wednesday morning_ ", he asked tentatively, "er will you be available next Tuesday evening for our delayed dinner date."

It was some measure of the progress he'd made that Ruth didn't even hesitate as she answered. "Of course and thank you for a lovely evening." Standing on her tip toes she reached up to lightly brush his cheek with her lips before practically scampering down the walkway towards the London Eye.

Had she looked back she'd have seen Harry bemused, gently rubbing his cheek as he watched her vanish into the crowd. Thinking back to his earlier musings about Elena he was beginning to wonder if he'd made yet another error of judgement. It might just be that the intriguing Ruth would prove the most dangerous women he'd ever met.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment please review. I did see this screening myself which gave me a chance to see SRB in a classic role - since followed up by his Prospero. I have no idea if the security services attend these performances but it seemed a good idea and the only logical way in which Harry would obtain tickets at the last minute for a sell out show (short of murder).**_


	20. Chapter 20: Giles Demands

**_Once again a longer delay than I would have liked in posting so thanks to those who are sticking with this story and especially to those who have reviewed._**

* * *

 **'tis all as easy**

 **Falsely to take away a life true made**

 **As to put metal in restrained means**

 **To make a false one Act 2 Sc 4 l 46-49**

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"Ruth. In my office. Now."

The peremptory command uttered by Giles was accompanied by a supercilious sneer that made Malcolm want to reach for a gun. In the absence of access to this highly desirable implement he instead substituted his headphones, which, by the time Ruth had reached the entrance to Giles' liar, were firmly clamped around his ears. At a casual glance anyone walking past would assume that he was apparently occupied in copious note making while watching a flickering poor quality video featuring a would be Isis freedom fighter ranting about the decadence of the West. In fact, alerted by a sixth sense, stimulated by the knowledge that yesterday Ruth's personnel file had finally landed on Giles desk, he deemed it advisable to listen into whatever proceedings were taking place behind the blinds, which were, as was now customary, firmly closed. Giles, having absorbed some lessons from his political friends, had patently eschewed the concept of open government from the moment his over polished shoes had toed their way on to the Grid.

Ruth was no less alarmed than Malcolm by her being singled out for a one to one with Giles. After having virtually ignored her for most of her time in Section D she was fairly certain his motive wasn't pastoral. Seeking some guidelines she asked, hoping the nervousness didn't show in her voice,

"Do I need to bring any papers with me?"

As if to confirm Malcolm's suspicions Giles merely replied, "No I already have the documents required."

Watching Ruth walk into the office Malcolm, after a quick glance to make sure he was unobserved, instantly flicked a digital switch enabling him to both listen and record whatever discussion was about to take place.

Once inside the red and glass walled office Ruth was denied even the minimal protection of an open door, "Shut it Ruth." Forced to stand like an erring schoolgirl in front of Giles' desk, Ruth could only trust that her inward apprehensions were not reflected in her would be confident stance as she awaited Giles' next move.

Giles, in a manner that was unpleasantly reminiscent of a cat playing with a mouse, kept her standing, maintaining a total silence while his eyes raked her up and down, a survey that made her skin crawl. Refusing to be cowed Ruth kept her own eyes front although she wasn't actually looking at Giles, preferring to concentrate on the various sculptures and other ornaments that adorned the shelves of the office. Not only did they form a much more attractive sight than Giles, their presence also occupied her brain as she invisibly deciphered the clues they afforded to the character of the absent Harry. Given their eclectic character beyond the suggestion that her real boss was a man of some taste she could make little of them, which exactly matched the enigmatic individual hinted at by Malcolm and her other colleagues.

Giles having concluded his staring leaned back in his seat and gestured toward a file on his desk stating in a self satisfied voice, "Do you know what this is Ruth?"

Thus invited Ruth, reading the upside down cover of the manila folder informed him, "As it says confidential and I've not seen it previously, obviously not." The snap in her voice seemed to galvanise Giles who sat bolt upright and glared at her,

"Then I'll tell you – it's your personnel file and it states that you are consorting with a dangerous traitor."

Ruth felt completely stunned by this piece of news, her first thought being that her almost accidental association with Horry known as Harry was innocent, well more or less. Alright she knew the construction that a turd like Giles would place on it but more importantly how had he found her out? Only Malcolm knew they had met and she was quite certain that he would not have betrayed her, not when he was covertly meeting the Horry/Harry himself. Trying not to stutter she managed to ask in a voice that, given her nerves, was remarkably tremble free, "Who?"

Giles dispensing with the obvious charm that he used on Charity and Chastity almost snarled, "Your step brother " Which was productive of relief and a simultaneous wrong footing of Ruth as she managed to declare scornfully "Pete – he's not a risk."

Her defiance seemed to infuriate Giles who almost slapped the file, wearing an expression that suggested he'd rather slap Ruth. "I'll be the judge of that. " Taking a deep breath he continued, "Your step brother put the security of the Queen at risk, he is a drunkard who has no doubt spilled security secrets and is therefore currently under investigation."

Ruth decided not to dignify this ridiculous premise by arguing with it, allowing Giles to sit back and almost purr.

"By your silence I see that you agree. I have to inform you that I am, given the circumstances, less than satisfied with your attitude in this section. You have defied me on more than one occasion."

"Only in the …"

"Silence Ruth. I assume that you wish to remain in this section and save Peter from prison."

Ruth expostulated, "His offence is not so very serious,"

"Again I will be the judge of that – you must learn Ruth that I am your superior in everything. I have some very powerful friends who will take my recommendations on the issue of Peter seriously and if you do not do exactly what I say I will ensure that, as an internal security risk with possible terrorist affiliations, he is sent to prison for a very long time."

Ruth forced onto the back foot protested, "but that is absurd and he'd die in there he simply.."

"Is a suicide risk, I've seen the assessments..…well the world would be better off without him but I'm sure you want to spare him and your parents the shame and distress." Greeted with silence he added, "I require a reply." As Giles gloated Ruth chose to look at the floor as she answered truthfully, "Of course."

"If you wish to avoid that event you will agree to participate in an action that will ensure you are compromised and therefore in no position to protest my managerial decisions in the future."

Seeing her uncomprehending look – he announced, "As a punishment for your insubordination you will submit yourself to me entirely." A statement that brought forth a puzzled frown from Ruth, replaced by one of horror as Giles explained, "It's very simple. You will allow me to fuck you."

Ruth gasping at his effrontery informed him decisively, "I am going straight to HR to inform them of this conversation."

Giles leaned back into chair with a lascivious grin, "No I don't think you will Ruth. Consider firstly it is my word against yours, and who would believe you against me, and as I said if you breathe a word of this to anyone I will ensure that Peter goes to prison for a very long time. The evidence of drugs will be found –oh yes it will -and so will some documents suggesting he is selling secrets to finance his habit." Noting a continuing resistance in her eyes he added, "Documents can only have come from you so you will also be charged with treason."

Ruth felt her stomach heave, the idea of letting Giles explore her intimately made her want to vomit on the spot. But as the new girl on the block with a sudden breach of security and the implication that she'd passed on state secrets who would believe her protestations of innocence? That Giles has powerful friends was the talk of the Grid, usually quoted as an unflattering contrast to his predecessor, " _The only reason Harry would drink with the Cabinet would be to poison them."_ Logically she knew that if she didn't agree Peter would certainly be imprisoned and since at the weekend she had recognised that he was in a suicidal state, how could she live with the guilt if he did carry through with the actions dictated by his current depression. Straight answer: she couldn't. Yet at the thought of the alternative her stomach muscles were heaving. Attempting to retain her skimpy breakfast of branflakes and coffee she was too busy swallowing to speak.

Giles seeing resistance replaced by dilemma smiled with triumph as he informed her, "I'll give you to four days to make up your mind". In tone of self congratulation he further informed her, "It's not as if you won't enjoy yourself next weekend. I'm a good performer." Seeing her hesitate he advised her, "GO now and not a word or as I said Peter will suffer."

Ruth tried to leave the office with what dignity she could muster, face rigid to avoid betraying her utter consternation at the fix she found herself in. Her career was expendable Pete's life wasn't…but the price….. Once beyond the boundary, but needing a safe space she headed straight to her desk, picked up an anonymous piece of paper before informing an inquisitive looking Zoe, "I'll be in the Registry". A partial lie, her immediate destination being the ladies where despite her efforts in the office she suspected she was about to become reacquainted with her breakfast. Vanishing through the pods her swiftness made Zoe stare in speculation before turning to Malcolm curiosity outgunned by concern.

"Malcolm – is something wrong with Ruth?"

Malcolm who had thought he was shock proof just about managed to answer in a neutral voice. "Do any of us like being ordered by Giles? Obviously he's given her an unpleasant task."

His response may have satisfied Zoe but privately Malcolm was congratulating himself on successfully uttering an accurate reply while consumed with internal rage at what he'd heard. He couldn't comment on Giles mattress bouncing prowess or verify the boast vis a vis his performance, but he was without doubt a piece of work. Furious at the predicament Ruth had found herself in Malcolm also understood exactly why she had felt so helpless, he was sharing the emotion. He could of course intervene, but only as the cost of the operation and the mayhem that would create, yet allowing Giles to proceed with his mucky plan came into the realm of images Malcom didn't want to envisage. He could only do one thing, so he did it. A little furious typing and the sound file in its entirety had been transferred to Harry as swiftly as the longwinded encrypted and untraceable messaging process would allow.

Malcolm was only thankful that he'd not be present when Harry, having heard and inwardly digested the contents of the audio file, would almost certainly erupt in a manner that would make Krakatoa sound like a rather feeble firework.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading and a review would be appreciated._**


	21. Chapter 21: Hidden Secrets

**_Thanks for your patience in waiting for chapters to emerge. This was going to be a much longer chapter but I split it in the interests of actually getting something posted. Consequently it is a bit of a filler chapter._**

 ** _As ever thanks to those who read and took the time to leave a review - much appreciated._**

* * *

 **I would by and by have some speech with you.**

 **The satisfaction I would require is likewise your own benefit. Act 3 Sc 1 157-159**

* * *

The restaurant was definitely upmarket, as indicated by the expensively plain décor, silently gliding waiters and the eye watering cost of the dishes, not that anything as vulgar as a printed price was allowed to blemish the menu. Even more crucially for its patrons the space between the individual tables was more than sufficient to allow a sense of privacy. Even on a weekday evening the place was almost fully booked but, given the almost total lack of conversation across the table occupied by Harry and Ruth, it would not have mattered if they'd been squash seated in a motorway McDonald's at the height of a summer bank holiday exodus. Ruth in particular was struggling to find a suitable topic for debate since the issue uppermost in her mind was not of the variety that one confided to anyone, even if Giles hadn't neatly skewered her to silence. She had seriously considered cancelling her date with Harry, but after a day and a half of contemplating her non existent options she'd decided that she needed a mental break. A thought driven by the desperate hope that perhaps if she was able to relax with someone standing outside the situation she'd experience a light bulb moment. Now in the absence of any enlightenment she concluded instead that she'd suffered a senior moment when agreeing to allow the personable man sitting opposite to wine and dine her. She must have been mad - how on earth could she confide to Harry that, _'My boss wants to screw me and I'm going to have to agree'_. Deep down she knew she just couldn't. How could he fail to be disgusted with her and she'd be unable, due to security issues, to explain why she was so cornered. Tonight would be the last time she'd see Harry, with a jolt she realised that despite their short acquaintanceship this leave her with a gaping void in her life, but once she'd physically capitulated to Giles she'd be tainted, unworthy of Harry's future attention. Even if she did venture an explanation how could she expect Harry to understand her convoluted relationship with Pete. The very thought of everything she was about to lose on Pete's unworthy behalf, of which her friendship with Harry was the greatest, made her feel inclined to murder. She'd almost prefer to have that crime on her conscience rather than Pete's suicide. While it was quite possible to reject Giles' proposition she knew she couldn't take the risk that Pete was all talk and no action, anymore than she could bear the knowledge that his suicide could have been prevented. The clock before she had to give Giles her answer was running down, and try as she might she found herself unable to lighten her mood. Glancing quickly across at her companion she suspected that he must have realised something was awry, since unlike their previous encounters Harry seemed to be preternaturally subdued – or had her non receptive down beat brooding just infected him and made him consider the viability of abandoning a relationship with a potential depressive?

Ruth's suspicion was in fact fairly accurate with regard to Harry's less than ebullient mien. His fury when he'd heard the file contents had nearly resulted in physical damage to the flat, in lieu of his being able to storm through the pods and inflict physical damage on Giles. Had it been possible Harry would have taken advantage of this ideal opportunity to check out the shatterproof guarantee on the glassy panels that composed the partition between his office and the Grid, completing the action with some tasteful blood stains on the carpet to tone with the scarlet painted walls. In the absence of that option he'd taken a very long, furiously brisk, walk, and then arranged to meet Malcolm at the secret safe flat. Now face to face with a plainly distressed Ruth, her eyes minus any sparkle and using a voice, when she spoke, that had adopted a falsely cheery tone to imply that everything was okay, he was mentally replaying the conversation with Malcolm.

Malcolm, when he arrived, had found Harry pacing the floor like a moody lion, an activity productive only of excessive wear on the carpeting. His face adorned with an expression that equalled Harry's in gravity, Malcolm's first words made it plain that he had second guessed both the reason for the summons and Harry's most immediate question.

"Sorry Harry, but there's no way the operation can be wrapped up before the weekend."

They weren't words calculated to soothe Harry, even if they did demonstrate that after years of working together as companions in arms they knew each other's thought processes better than those of the average married couple. Harry acknowledged Malcolm's predication with a deep sigh as he sank dejectedly into the equally deep sofa cushions.

"As I suspected."

Catching Malcolm's eyes he proceeded to his next subsidiary question, "Ruth isn't actually considering…..." his voice uncharacteristically tailing off rather than speak the revolting thought aloud. The vision of Beauty and the Beast it conjured up being one he preferred to supress on the grounds of mental decency.

Malcolm, whose pastoral concern for Ruth equalled that of Harry, pursed his lips in response, before stating in a measured tone,

"I'd hope not but…." After a short pause he continued, "She seems close to her stepbrother and I double checked the assessments Giles had access to. He was unfortunately correct, Peter is a serious suicide risk and the parents seem to be mentally fragile as well."

"Meaning?" A rhetorical question that Harry hastily answered for himself, having some idea of how Ruth's conscience operated, "She's debating which is the worst option, sex with Giles or familial suicides and mental breakdowns for which she would be responsible – even if she isn't."

Malcolm didn't waste words arguing, although having endured Harry's interrogation he had his own blunt question as he asked in a tone of near exasperation,

"Did you know about the stepbrother when you appointed her?"

Even from Malcom Harry resented the implied slight on his judgement, or the suggestion that he had not performed due diligence, as he responded in full boss mode, "Of course I did. She's clean. The official report was clear that there had been no security breach by her relative. Also he'd been in a relationship with Angela Wells."

Malcolm was astonished as he queried, "The Angela Wells!"

"Do you know of any other? Exactly and therefore he'd been vetted."

Malcolm, while part apologising, remained puzzled, "I see ….so in that case surely Ruth has no cause to worry."

Harry with experience borne from years of in field trickery was less optimistic, "In theory no but in practice…...Giles, like anyone in the service has contacts that could frame the pair of them. Remember he can also bribe and threaten as the up and coming Head of Section D. Even if I get back to the Grid in time to save Ruth from prosecution mud sticks. As for Pete, only one person ever returned from the dead, allegedly."

Malcolm while correcting Harry, "Two actually, you've forgotten Lazarus, possibly three if you include the centurion's daughter," hurriedly abandoned a pedantry that had sent Harry scowling to ask, "Would removing Peter to a safe house be an option?"

Harry, having already considered that one carefully, was quick to respond. "Not really, either Ruth gets the blame and is in further trouble, or Giles suspects he's being watched, remember he's a traitorous degenerate but he's not a fool, and is an arch manipulator himself, if he gets a whiff of what we're monitoring operation will collapse and Section D will go down."

Malcolm feeling helpless while agreeing with the basic premise of this assessment still protested, "On the other hand if she gives in to Giles when the operation takes him down she'll go down with him."

Harry, who had every confidence in his ability to circumvent the latter prospect, nodded before expressing his real worry, "That I could deal with. It's what he'll probably do to her if she does agree that may destroy her."

Malcolm's eyebrows drew together in mild puzzlement as Harry enlightened him with the nightmare thoughts he'd had ample time to process,

"My guess is that he's not planning straightforward sex. He likes to show his power." As Malcolm continued to look sceptical Harry explained his reasoning, "Think about it, the near rape of the girl in ' _Touchstones'_ , the nature of the establishment you tracked him to and…" Hoping Malcolm would not put two and two together as a result Harry and Jane's activities in putting themselves together to make one, he added reluctantly, "He also abused Jane, that's why she's willing to help us."

Malcolm wasn't deceived. Harry never boasted of his past honeytrap affairs but they were whispered about, even if his prowess was somewhat exaggerated in the telling. It had to be, or Harry would have expired from sexual exhaustion in his mid twenties. However Malcolm was also a spook, and as such had long since perfected the art of the judiciously used blind eye, preferring to enquire instead,

"So what is your plan Harry?"

Harry hated admitting failure but at present was stumped for a plan, short of shooting Giles, which while attractive would leave Gavrik's network intact along with the risk to the nation, as he sighed,

"At present I don't, but I'm taking her out to dinner tomorrow evening and I'll try to get her to confide in me. That might give me an in and a chance to work something out."

Malcolm's unstated dubious reception of this announcement had been reflected in his face. Now as Harry was sat opposite a Ruth, determinedly not communicating anything beyond general comments about her plans to visit various London landmarks, he was beginning to despair himself. He was also vehemently, if silently, cursing Giles. This evening could have been so perfect, he was being partnered by an interesting and intelligent woman, who furthermore was looking even more attractive than usual. Normally Harry would have taken the carefully applied makeup and the close fitting blouse, in a shade of mid blue that complemented her eyes, while revealing a figure that so far had been hidden in the looser garments she favoured, as an indication that she was interested in advancing their relationship. He might even have judged that if he played his cards correctly he could have wangled a night of delight, had she not been a) a member of his staff and b) distracted by her troubles. Instead. given what he knew about her two days of mental turmoil. he suspected the ensemble was not designed for seduction but instead represented an effort to shore up some self respect while feeling like shit. He knew that mind set, it was part of the reason why he usually wore an expensive suit to work – an armour against the foul world. Blast Giles, and a secondary curse on the operation that had plunged Harry into the unwelcome position of knowing what she knew, while she didn't know he knew and he couldn't tell her that he knew because it was imperative that she didn't know what he knew about Giles. On the other hand pussy footing around the issue of Ruth's acute unhappiness wasn't producing results either and when, having pecked at her main course, she refused a dessert with the obvious intention of wrapping up the evening he took a deep metaphorical breath and made his pitch,

"Ruth I thought we were friends?"

For a brief second her eyes held a smile, and then it fled as quickly as it had arrived, as she responded in the bright tone he was beginning to loathe,

"Of course we are."

"Then why don't you tell me what is bothering you." Seeing her start he added with a diffused sympathy, "I might be able to help."

Ruth noted the warmth and for a very brief second considered taking up his offer, before decisively shaking her head,

"If I though you could …but no one can help me. It has to be my decision."

Harry took it as a good sign that she hadn't actually denied that she was in difficulties as he made another push,

"Ruth you don't know that, but I think I can guess – is it something to do with your boss."

Ruth's look of astonishment was a joy to behold as she almost stuttered, "How…"

Harry gave her a direct if not threatening stare, "Remember I know Malcolm, and I recall you saying that you're worried that your boss doesn't like you, so an easy guess." Pausing for a second he added, "And judging by your face an accurate one."

In the wary look in her eyes and the steel trapped silence that ensued Harry understood the implication. However accurate his pretended surmise Ruth was not prepared to break security protocol. Normally he would have applauded her caution, which for the future was convincing him that, not that he'd needed convincing having made his mind up at their first meeting, that she was a born spook. For today though as he sought to break her resolution if he was to achieve his entirely laudable desire to keep Giles lecherous abusive fingers away from her rather shapely person it would be so much easier if he could just tell her the truth, but he couldn't risk her reaction. If she blew the operation either through fury or by accident the entire Section would go down. The stakes therefore could be the survival of Section D versus Ruth's virtue, so no contest, especially when if he could just persuade her to trust him he'd find a way to preserve the latter. However Ruth was proving a tough nut to crack. Regretfully Harry concluded that if he was to succeed in making her crumble he was going to have to adopt some time honoured interrogation techniques. In this situation he'd start with the method of suggesting the unthinkable - at least he profoundly hoped it was unthinkable - to provoke a reaction.

With a heavy sigh that bespoke disappointment he informed her in a quiet voice, "Ruth if you want to let me down gently because you've fallen for your boss, I'm a big boy, I can take it!"

Success favoured the bold as Ruth shocked to her core by this misinterpretation practically spat at him.

"Of course I haven't - I hate him but I can't…." she stopped wondering if she'd said too much, but in reality knew that she probably hadn't told Harry anything he hadn't already divined,

Harry, picking up on her pause added, "Tell me about it in a public arena – quite." Aware that he still needed to break down her resistance he took a chance and suggested,

"Ruth how about we go back to my flat for coffee – no strings, I promise you can leave whenever you wish– and only tell me as much as you feel able."

Ruth still wasn't sure, but seeing the sympathy in Harry's eyes was felled by her need to unburden to someone, and after all Malcolm trusted him, and so presumably did the absent injured Harry Pearce, so she nodded assent before saying,

"Yes to coffee but I'm not sure about…."

"As I said, tell me as much as you feel able. I won't pressurise you."

Harry knew that to be a total lie, but once ensconced with Ruth in private he'd be able to work on her more subtly. This he realised, as he indicated to the waiter that they were leaving, would be the first time they'd been alone together. it was a situation that under different circumstances could be considered intimate. He might lie to others for a living but he tried very hard not to lie to himself, that being the only way he could remain true to his bedrock beliefs. Therefore he had to admit that despite the underlying reasons for his proposal the prospect of talking to Ruth in a solitary situation was very attractive indeed.

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 ** _Thanks for reading. If you have time please review. I may take a little longer to reply to any reviews as I'm about to take a holiday_**


	22. Chapter 22: Harry Discovers

_**Very many apologies for delay once again. Apart from holidays this was not an easy chapter to write and a warning that it hovers into M territory. To those who are still reading thanks for your patience and for the reviews.**_

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 _ **Our doubts are traitors,**_

 _ **And make us lose the good we oft might win**_

 _ **By fearing to attempt (Act 1 Sc 4 77 -79)**_

Forced to enter the sitting room first, unavoidable since Harry had positioned himself behind her as he politely ushered her inside (old word courtesy disguising his determination that having cajoled her thus far he wasn't about to afford her an opportunity to take an about turn and bolt) Ruth heard him say quickly, "Welcome to my home – coffee?" The statement and question uttered in a friendly voice, aimed at putting the clearly unsettled Ruth at her ease. The intention, while laudable, was falling somewhere short of success, as Ruth after swallowing hard just about managed to articulate, "Er yes but…." Almost jumping as he snapped the front door shut.

Realising from her startled reaction that she was currently regarding his comfortable sitting room an example of the much feared golden trap, and suspecting that given half a chance Ruth would stage an exit Harry, exercising the same quiet demeanour, waved her towards the sofa, "It'll only take about five minutes, so relax and then we'll talk." That he had indeed trapped her was an accurate assumption, and one he would have anticipated from someone possessed of her acumen. For once though, while few could master Harry in the art of setting snares for the unwary, and the occasionally innocent, almost uniquely in this instance his entrapment intentions were benign – in as far as Ruth was concerned. Giles was a different issue.

Leaving her no time to protest, he absconded into the kitchen, not entirely unaware that he was participating in an almost a role reversal repetition of his first visit to Jane's flat. Remembrance of how that evening had concluded, along with the unshakable image of Ruth in her figure enhancing, deep blue blouse, being sufficient to make him speculate as the advisability of spiking his own coffee with bromide – damn he didn't have any – instead he'd just have to breathe deeply and practice self control.

With Harry domiciled in the kitchen brewing the coffee, while simultaneously subduing his inner Adam through the visualisation of ice bergs, Ruth had little alternative other than to accept the command clothed as an invitation to sit, although relaxing was a little beyond her. Positioned bolt upright, her posture implying that she was anticipating an interrogation, was at wide variance ambience created by the large comfortable sofa. Trying to subdue her nerves she was seeking distraction by using the eyes that Harry found so mesmerising to make a forensic inventory of the flat's contents, with a view to gathering Intel on the flat's owner. Currently she was drawing a near blank.

The main furnishings were of uniformly good quality, carved out of a slightly darkened pinewood with no jarring notes, set against a background of carpet and walls in bland neutral shades, the overall effect: an expensive symphony of beige relieved by dark brown accents courtesy of the curtains and velvet cushions, the latter thrown with studied carelessness onto the sofa and matching chairs. Restful, blending, no jarring notes. From this she culled the information that Harry was not on the breadline and possessed of conservative tastes. As if she hadn't already worked that one out – he hardly have been wining and dining her in expensive eateries if he was poverty stricken, and although his clothes seemed casual she knew enough about cut and materials to be aware that his favoured labels commanded a hefty price tag. Beyond that she had acquired little fresh information….. expect…. surely the fact that there was nothing personal on display should tell her something – but then she also knew he was secretive. His work for Harry Pearce was strictly off the books – she'd checked - and despite his undoubted physical presence officially he was, in security terms, an invisible man. Disquieting and carrying with it the implication that trusting him would be unwise. He was a puzzle she so far failed to solve despite their increasingly frequent meetings cum dates. Working for Harry Pearce in an undercover capacity hinted at a degree of ruthlessness, and yet he'd treated her so considerately. His concern seemed genuine, and she kept indulging in a mad recurring hope that he could solve the problem she had so far refused to confide. At which point she gave herself a quick shake and called her unruly thoughts to order, as a precursor to resuming her concentrated dissection of the flat's contents. The few pictures, mainly prints of London landscapes, featuring the Houses of Parliament, St Paul's and the Royal Opera house were impersonal, no photographs of friends or family, did he have any? Even to herself she wasn't going to admit that it was a relief not see an image of any other woman lurking furtively on the polished dust free surfaces she was scanning. In fact the more that she didn't see in the flat the more she began to wonder if he really lived here at all. No books on show in the home of a man who enjoyed Shakespeare! No CD's for a man who was a self confessed opera buff! The only evidence of occupation was provided by the wifi hub that she'd finally located stuck away in a corner of a small shelf, otherwise bare except for the oddity of a small and expensive looking ornament. An abstract cast that vaguely reminded her of something she'd noted recently but where? Try as she might her memory was, for once, failing her. Stress she supposed, relaxing being a luxury the events of the past two days had denied her. If only Pete wasn't so fragile she'd not be in this mess, and even more irritating his dependence on her has a lifeline seemed to be increasing.

Despite her best efforts over on Sunday, which included sitting through Pete's choice of a Super hero movie, (God it had been terrible all CGI and macho posturing, the female lead's model proportions displayed by a costume skin tight to the point of obscenity), yesterday her foot had no sooner hit her threshold than the landline had demanded her instant attention. Pete of course, back to demanding endless sympathy, stuffed with self pity sobbing that he didn't want to live. After an hour, during which she managed not to scream that some of his problem he'd brought on himself, with the chaser that he ought to have hers to deal with, she'd managed to soothe him sufficiently to ring off, although not before advising him that she'd be working the following evening. A white lie since, despite not having made a final decision vis a vis meeting Harry, she felt she deserved a night off. All of which brought her back to the topic that for the last twenty four hours had haunted her, setting her mind buzzing and stomach heaving at the mere contemplation of Giles' caterpillar like fingers exploring the secret niches of her body. If only life was like the film she'd endured, complete with a superhero to solve all of her problems with one zap. The clatter emanating from the kitchen reminding her that she had an offer of help, but could she, should she confide in Harry? Her increasingly erratic heart kept saying yes, while her cool rational mind, recognising that this was a counsel of desperation, advised otherwise. Coupled of course with the sheer bloody difficulty of having to explain why she hadn't so far said no to Giles- how could she explain about Pete, their respective parents and the guilt she'd fell at their destruction. Harry might even conclude that she was secretly in love with Pete, a proposition that just about matched the idea of being bedded by Giles in her personal puke stakes, plus of course the additional knowledge that if she once unbuttoned her lips she'd be breaking heaven knew how many endless protocols. Overall with a dragging reluctance her head was winning out.

Further internal debate was halted by Harry entering from the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee, noting, without seeming to look, from the firm set of her lips that Ruth was not about to babble out all her secrets. Handing her drink he carefully sat down on the chair facing her, despite there being ample space on the sofa for them to get cosy. That would be a distraction and given what Giles had demanded of her it was vital that he kept everything if not impersonal at least platonic. Harry, not being a novice when it came to dealing with nervous assets who required gentle nurturing, swallowed a mouthful of coffee and prepared to wait. Finally, after sipping just about enough to wet her lips, Ruth managed to stammer out, "I'm grateful but really I can't tell you as it's work related and…."

Harry gave her warm smile, genuinely affectionate, although also neatly calculated to undermine her resistance, "I understand – so how about we play a game instead?" Enjoying immensely the blush that inadvertently spread across her cheeks. She really was adorable, never more so that when confused. Pretending he hadn't noticed he enquired, "Ever tried twenty questions?" while privately punching the air at the momentary tell that had implied that she wasn't, despite her verbal reservations, immune to his charm offensive or entirely adverse to considering his further intentions at some point in the distant future. Like in about a fortnight's time when Giles was al least out of their lives, even if he was still in possession of his own.

"Er I don't quite…"

Harry cut across her puzzlement, "Understand. It's quite simple I ask you twenty questions all of which are closed, you answer honestly and then I guess the answer based on your replies." From her expression she found this explanation as unclear as the dark brown cushion her elbow was currently resting on. After another swig of his coffee Harry enlightened her further, "I ask you questions around the problem you have with your boss and then I guess – if I'm right then you haven't actually told me. If I get it wrong, well you still haven't told me."

Ruth practically gulped down her drink as she considered the option he was offering her. Looking across at him she had a momentary hallucination of Giles horrible leering face of superimposed upon Harry's altogether more acceptable physiognomy. Ruth wasn't a risk taker by nature but one pertinent enquiry Harry wasn't likely to ask was, " _Where exactly had trying to do her best for Section D landed her?_ " The chances were that Harry wouldn't mange to guess accurately but …. Harry watching carefully to see if she took the bait could only hope. What he'd actually do if she didn't fess up to her troubles wasn't a question he could answer at present, but despite his apparently stolid demeanour he was aching for her to trust him and then they could tackle the problem together. As Ruth straightened up to sit almost stiffly to attention he was practically holding his breath as she announced her decision.

"Very well, but only nineteen questions." Before he could expostulate she informed him, "You've already had– one that the problem is my boss."

Harry almost laughed out loud: typical analyst, but he'd won his point. Now the challenge was to frame questions that would make his guess appear spontaneous, and not the result of former knowledge.

"Very well. We start with a second question. So, is your superior attempting to force you to do something against your will?"

"Yes."

"Question Three: Have you agreed to this as yet?"

"No"

"Does this involve another person in any way at all?" Alarmingly Ruth's brow wrinkled as she processed this before answered hesitantly, "Well yes." Good so far so honest.

Harry nodded as he moved on. "Question Four: is this person a work colleague or other?"

"Other."

"Question Five: Friend or family or other?"

"Family."

"Question Six. Is this person aware of the request from your boss?"

"No"

Harry paused, pretending to be lost in thought as though he was struggling before continuing. "Very well so Question Seven does your boss want you to do something connected with a work situation?" Seeing Ruth frown again he added "I mean is this connected with an operation?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation Ruth gave a quick quirk as she enquired. "Is that a supplementary question?"

"No merely a clarification of the meaning behind the question I asked and so…. I await your answer Miss Evershed."

"Well No." adding with a sly twinkle 'but still I think you're cheating."

"Question Eight and I'll make this clear then, is whatever this is to take place off the Grid?"

The words were out before, with horror, Harry realised that while trying to disguise his foreknowledge he'd made a basic error, and might just have given her a dangerous clue as to his true identity. Only the inhabitants of Section D used that name for the area guarded by the pods, and it was unlikely that Ruth would miss that. He was right, when with a sudden frown she queried,

"How did you know we call it that?"

Harry was keen to get off topic as he hurriedly produced a reply that he could only hope would pass her intelligent muster. "I thought I was asking the questions, but Malcolm – he once let it slip." Having just trashed Malcolm's reputation for caution Harry made a mental note that he must remember to text his longsuffering colleague and advise him of his attributed carelessness. That was for later, for now Harry reminded her, "Answer yes or no."

With an embarrassed blush Ruth whispered, "Yes"

Hm, a slight flush of colour to those normally pale cheeks, it suited her, what a pity her eyes weren't sparkling to match. Fighting down these reflections Harry pressed on, it was getting late and not only did he want to ensure that he delivered Ruth safely back to her own flat, the one he'd viewed on Google, but he also needed to rest up before tackling Jane tomorrow afternoon. " _Harry I've some new information for you_." Experience suggesting that this would be delivered via a pillow talk exchange or as Alec, on those rare occasions when he avoided downright crudity, would have put it, _'daytime dirties'_. Aware that he'd halted the interrogation game he returned his mind to the current and less physically exacting information gathering task.

"Question Nine then to clarify – whatever this is, are you required to do it alone or with Giles?"

Ruth, wishing with every cell in her body that she could tell Giles to go fuck himself, replied still blushing, "With him."

"Question Ten: in public or private?"

"Private." Despite the single answer requirement Ruth involuntarily muttered, "I hope," as the appalling thought suddenly occurred to her that Giles might just plan to film the event for future blackmail.

Harry had paused for a few moments as he considered which question to ask next in pursuit of his aim of ensuring that he obtained enough from Ruth to make his guess appear as a logical working progression from the answers he'd teased out of her and not the result of foreknowledge.

"Question Eleven, I'm recapping a little. You said that this is not an official operation, so is it a covert or black op?"

Ruth sniffed as she replied with several words, 'Only in as far as I don't want to do it."

"I take that as no and therefore I assume this is personal, and that is an observation Ruth, not Question Twelve." Before she could protest this he stated quickly, "So Question Twelve: does this involve Giles asking you to frame someone for his own personal purposes?"

"No."

"Question Thirteen then – is he blackmailing you by threatening to frame the individual you referred to earlier?"

Ruth's astounded reaction to his perspicuity gave him the answer, "So a yes then – Question Fourteen is he also threatening you personally with consequences if you don't comply?"

"Yes." Ruth astounded for a moment asked, "But how did you…."

"Knowledge of the type Ruth – I work undercover remember which means: Question Fifteen; you said you hadn't yet consented so has he given you a deadline for agreement?"

"Yes, and I'll expand this one Harry. Friday."

Harry was unable to suppress a disgusted snort, "So he's planning his weekend. Have you told anyone at all about this, for example the family member?"

"No, was that Question Sixteen?"

"Turning the tables Ms Evershed? And the answer to that is yes." Harry was wondering what else he could ask before enquiring: "Question Seventeen: is this event to take place during the day or night?"

Ruth was struggling to answer that one. "Not sure but I think night."

"Question Eighteen. Have you considered resigning or just vanishing for a few days?

That elicited another protest. "Unfair Harry, I can't give a yes no answer to that without explaining."

Harry's response was terse, "Answer as agreed."

"Well yes – but…"

"Question Nineteen and obviously you haven't acted on that idea; is that because you think Giles will go ahead with his threat whatever you do?"

"Yes and… well apart from him -I love my job and the rest of the team," –qualifying honestly after a brief consideration, "bar one."

Harry's heart leapt at this response, which only strengthened his determination to keep her attached to Section D. Ruth might be in a pickle but she plainly had guts and wasn't about to turn tail. Identifying the bar one was easy, Jed, and he wasn't going to hang around for long once Harry returned to the Grid. Harry needed no help in blackening his own reputation and it was a tossup which of Jed's lies had infuriated him more: the statement that Harry routinely propositioned his female staff, or the additional crass claim that he was so lacking in class that he'd followed up these mythical encounters by shagging his victim on the Meeting Room table.

"Last question Ruth – if I guess correctly will you promise to let me help you?"

"I don't see how …"

"Stick to the game: Yes or No."

"Yes but…"

Harry cut across this further protest sharply, "Agreed then, and that concludes the questions so give me a few minutes to ponder my guess."

While Harry leaned back with his eyes shut, ostensibly deep in thought, Ruth was biting her lip wondering what would be worse, his guessing correctly and having to renegade on the promise of help, or his getting it wrong in which case she was really on her own. Harry surveying her through a sliver of part open eyelid read all this in her face as he wondered how she would react to his bound to be correct guess. He'd also have to convince her of its logic, which was going to be tricky. Never try to outwit an analyst, and especially not one who bade fair to be one of his more inspired staff choices.

Sitting up right he heaved a sigh as he informed her, "I think I have it – Giles is blackmailing you by threatening a family member with some sort of exposure, false but I assume credible. Further to that if you don't agree he is planning to do the same to you. You've told me that this is nothing to do with any operation official or otherwise so it is personal. As you also say it is a one off and probably evening at the weekend with no one involved would I be correct in saying that he's trying to coerce you into sleeping with him."

Even if Harry hadn't already known all this beforehand the sight of Ruth almost sagging under a confusing combination of shock and relief would have advised him that he'd hit the bullseye. Experienced in the art of interrogation he stoically sat trying to transmit waves of empathy as he waited for her to confirm his supposed guess. When Ruth finally rediscovered her vocal cords she almost began to babble "yes but…well.. how and …"

Harry allowed her a few seconds before taking a risk and moving over to the sofa put an arm around her in a strictly would be platonic hug. When she didn't pull away but instead leaned against his shoulder, almost sobbing as the stress of secrecy abated, he whispered into her ear, "So I'm right, now I have to work out how to help you." Ruth, while showing no sign of moving sighed, "But what can you…"

She had him there of course, Harry while determined that Giles wasn't going to lay a finger or anything resembling one on her, wasn't quite sure what he could do to ensure that the only one who was screwed was Giles. He needed the essential details of Giles' fell intent, such as rendezvous and time, before he could come up with even the vaguest of plots that would rescue his damsel in distress, while also not spiking the major operation that Ruth remained unaware of. Not wanting to destroy her hard won faith in him he pulled apart slightly, grasping both her hands as, for the first time in the evening he made a truly truthful response

"I don't know at present but I'll come up with something. I promise Scouts honour and all that." Smiling, not just to reassure Ruth, but also because he was contemplating a beatific vision of where exactly up Giles he'd like to stuff a woggle.

Ruth wriggling around slightly to face him smiled wanly, "That's very sweet of you Harry but I don't think anyone can help."

"Just trust me." As Harry, who'd been called many things but rarely sweet, uttered this sentence he leaned over to brush his lips across Ruth's cheek, a copy of the fleeting contact they'd had the previous Thursday when she's initiated that brief salutation. Alas for Harry's so far honourable intentions, just as he moved towards Ruth a corresponding movement on her part ensued that lips met lips in a sudden contact that shocked them both. For two seconds Harry intended to withdraw as he felt Ruth stiffen, but when just as quickly she suddenly relaxed, allowing his body to melt against hers he abandoned the attempt to subdue the rampant desire that had been haunting him from their first meeting. As their tongues tangled prudence was vanquished and, living in the moment, nothing mattered to him other than convincing her of his very sincere personal regard.

Within a few short minutes a thoroughly convinced Ruth found herself resting back against the sofa cushions, her blouse, which had become mysteriously unbuttoned lay like two blue crumpled butterfly wings, separated by her partially naked body that was now revealing to the man caressing it a surprisingly large cleavage for her frame, all enclosed within a very lacy bra. The latter, as Harry's busy fingers swiftly discovered, was that adjunct to masculine joy of joys, front fastening, which with one very deft movement he was able to unclip as he gained unimpeded, above the waist, access to a pair of bared breasts that were responding very satisfactorily to his tongue and fingers stimulation.

Ruth, with the miniscule part of her brain that had not yet been taken over by physical autopilot, while suspecting that she should call a halt to the proceedings, was overborne by her treacherous body, currently being riven by all sorts of thrilling tremors that she didn't want to end. Heaving with unaccustomed pleasure she was unable to protest anyway since his lips were once again firmly attached to hers. Thus silenced she was prevented from asking if Harry had suddenly acquired an extra pair of hands, the result an unexpected movement in which his hand shot up her thigh and she became conscious of a pair of probing fingers rummaging around in her underwear. Speech became impossible when, within seconds, she found herself groaning and bucking under the attention.

Harry, removing his digits for a moment, took advantage at of her distraction to prepare himself further. Ruth, on hearing an unaccustomed sound as she came down from her high, snapped her eyes open, to be greeted by the sight of Harry hovering above her, his unzipped condition proving that his statement in the restaurant that he was a big boy had not simply been a reference to his age. Before she could comment Harry had pushed her skirt up to her waist allowing him to caress her stomach, making her purr with delight, before suddenly with one swift movement he yanked her tights and knickers down to her knees, running his fingers up her parted thighs to once again stroke her intimately.

Harry, aware of the state of his own rock hard arousal, feeling her preliminary shudders leaned over to breathe into her ear. "This time together I think."

Ruth, while trembling with her own desire, managed to stammer out. "Yes, but you should know that…"

Whatever Harry should have known remained unspoken as, with consent given, he proceeded to enter her with one urgent thrust. Ruth's sudden gasp being matched by his own as he realised what she'd been about to tell him.

Amazing given her level of attractiveness and age!

Almost unbelievable and unlikely!

But the fact remained. He had just removed Ruth's virginity.

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 ** _Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated_**.


	23. Chapter 23: Pillow Talk

_**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the last chapter. This one was intended to move the plot forward but ended up being rather more H &R than anticipated. As ever sorry for the delay but life is mad.**_

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 **'Dust thou desire her foully for these things**

 **That make her good. Act 2 Scene 2 74-75**

Up until that moment when their lips accidentally touched Harry had been trying to convince himself that that his interest was platonic or even fatherly, in which case he'd just committed incest, which would have been a first for him, as was shagging a virgin. Still at least he and Ruth were even in that they'd both just enjoyed a new experience when humping on his sofa. At least he hoped she'd enjoyed it, he certainly had.

That he had deflowered Ruth had come as shock sufficient to still him for a couple of seconds while he decided what he should do. Having mounted her and being firmly wedged inside her it hadn't been a difficult decision. Since nothing would ever return Ruth to her previous intact state the next best option was to ensure that she didn't regret the event, so he'd concluded that he might as well continue the process he'd launched on, while simultaneously ensuring that the old cliché of the grateful virgin was turned into a reality. With that objective he'd begun to move, the next four or five minutes confirming that he'd completed the preliminaries so adequately that it only took a few firm thrusts to complete the task to the enjoyment of both parties. That had been straightforward. It was the immediate aftermath that had proved awkward. Once he'd withdrawn his now diminishing wedding tackle from inside her Harry found himself still hovering above a supine body with his genitals hanging outside his trousers, while Ruth was still prostrate on the sofa. While her upper body and breasts were naked her legs remained constricted by her knickers surrounding her knees, with her skirt pushed up to her stomach, the lower portion trapped beneath her bottom and thighs, hosting the inevitable damp spot. As a scene it somehow lacked the grandeur and sensuality depicted in the statue of the lovers, resembling more the bits, in all senses of the phrase, that weren't shown in the 'Carry On films' so popular in his youth.

As Ruth began to push herself upwards wearing an expression that combined the stunned with the uncertain, was fiddling with her blouse in an attempt to discover the bra cups that had disappeared in the general direction of her armpits. Harry, as he rearranged his own clothing to reduce exposure, once more took charge, moving to put an arm around her shoulders as he whispered into her ear "Please Ruth will you stay tonight and let me make love to you properly?" A request that added confusion to her face as she abandoned fidgeting for her clothes to stutter, "But surely….well haven't we just…."

Harry with years of experience under his frequently unfastened belt was quite definite in his reply, "That was more like your typical student shag…" before recalling that this was a situation Ruth had plainly never encountered. Feeling that it might be indelicate at this stage to interrogate her as to why not, although it was a burning question for him, he informed her gently, "I want to kiss and caress every part of your body Ruth and I'd like you to know to that sex can be more than a quick fumble on a couch."

The reply when it came, after Ruth had performed what he now recognised was her familiar ritual of assessing and analysing every aspect of the situation was a tad unexpected. "But I have to go to work tomorrow and I must change my clothes."

Harry seriously wondered if he was losing his touch, most women presented with the chance to be bedded by him didn't fret about changing their knickers the next day, but he supposed she had a point about not creating gossip on the Grid, "I'm suggesting I call you a taxi first thing tomorrow to take you home and then to work." Anticipating her next protest he added, "I have an alarm clock and I can afford it so don't worry."

Slowly Ruth nodded her head "Thanks and yes I think I would like that." Having achieved agreement Harry stood up and gazing down at her, seeing that she was still looking a little embarrassed he nodded his head towards the bedroom door, "The bedroom's through there with an en-suite so make yourself at home. I need to pop out for something."

Having departed he did half wonder if he'd return to discover that she'd done a runner but no, when he reappeared and entered the bedroom, Ruth's clothes were neatly folded onto a chair and she herself was lying in one side of the bed looking more relaxed than he'd left her. Tiredness and warm water he assumed as he decided he'd better hurry his own ablutions if he was to make it beneath the duvet before she fell asleep. Depositing the items he was carrying on his side of the bed, enjoying her puzzled glance he informed her, "I'll join you in shortly," as he hurried into the ensuite himself, hastily stripping off and showering as quickly as was consistent with cleanliness.

By the time he padded back into the bedroom stark naked and obviously ready to initiate Ruth into further pleasures of the flesh, she was sitting upright staring at the bottle of wine sitting in the cooler along with two glasses, the puzzled expression he'd seen earlier once more decorating her face. Sliding into the bed beside her he answered the unspoken questions "Firsts should be celebrated." Moving his hands in a feather like caress over her naked body – hmm her skin was like silk - he was halted by her obliquely admitting that she had just lost her maidenhead, although thankfully there was no note of reproach in her voice, "So why haven't you poured…"

"I told you – the first is allowing me to make love to your properly, the couch was hardly a quality experience."

Even through her nervousness Ruth essayed a joke, "Modest aren't you."

Harry chose not to reply instead preferring to kiss her lips as he made her lean back against the well plumped pillows. "Just lie back and enjoy." Whispered as he moved his hands gently over her body. Now he had her access to her clothed as nature had intended he was savouring her exquisite figure, breasts every bit as enticing as those marvellous changeable eyes, a narrowing at the waist and thighs so shapely he was desperate to feel them tighten around him, urging him on. Exerting the self control that he knew would pay sexual dividends he continued to stroke her with long careful movements, slowly arousing her, taking his own pleasure from feeling her stir and the small cries she uttered as he guided them both towards a shattering climax. The next few minutes being occupied by some mutual pleasuring as Ruth, to he great delight, essayed a degree of proactivity.

Afterwards as they mutually wound down Harry reached over and poured out the wine, "Sorry, but the off licence doesn't do a decent champagne, so sparkling white will be the substitute for now." Ruth sated and after the events of the evening thoroughly but pleasantly tired, smiled, "Thank you anyway." Harry didn't enquire as to whether the thanks related to the drink or the sex, judging by her earlier reaction in that field she seemed to be aiming at a first and he'd be more than willing to act as her sole mentor. Consequently it was her next statement that made him splutter.

"I'm glad the first time was with someone I actually like not…." She stopped as Harry choked before quivering with shock he jerked upright showering them both with the contents of his glass as he abandoned all self control to almost roar at her "Ruth you aren't seriously considering…."

Unlike the majority of persons when confronted with the Pearce wrath Ruth didn't flinch, possibly because her more immediate concern to remove the droplets of wine from her breasts. Had he been less angry he'd have seized the opportunity to aid her by licking the offending drops away. It was only after she'd mopped herself up courtesy of the sheets, since nothing else absorbent was available, that she asked reasonably, "But what alternative do I have Harry?"

"As I told you earlier – trust me." Adding with a confidence that he hoped would be infectious, "I'll find a way."

Ruth looking dubious asked him, "But why Harry?"

Harry couldn't of course tell her the whole truth, that as her boss he felt protective, even if that hadn't extended to using a condom, a thought that sent his mind reeling. He was so used to experienced women – even Jane came into that category – that he'd plain forgotten that according the clergy the act was designed for procreation not pleasure. A viewpoint that had long made him consider that the non-existent God was a spoilsport.

Putting his arm around her pulling her against his chest he murmured another partial truth into her ear. "Because Ruth I want exclusive access to your body."

When she failed to respond he expalined, "I want to take you to bed without having nightmares about your being blackmailed by some little Hitler." Adding as an inspiration, "There's no point in you having avoided the attentions of callow inexperienced youths to submit to someone who in effect a rapist."

Ruth, while wondering if she'd been foolish enough to fall prey to a womaniser struggled upright as she protested. "That's a bit strong Harry as it will be consensual."

"With a threat to your career and brother as an enticement – sorry Ruth that is not consensual, it's blackmail and for that you can be imprisoned,"

Exhausted by the emotions of the evening Ruth said in a hopeless voice, "And I can't accuse him." Which of course lead them back to the square one they'd entered the flat with, only this time minus their clothes.

As he eased her once more back against the pillows Harry, in a slightly left of field link with the topic under discussion, asked her, "Ruth you are one of the most intelligent women I've met, you are independent, very attractive and judging by your reaction tonight not frigid so why…"

Ruth finished it for him, "Have I never…." Leaving the statement hanging she explained, "It's not so very strange Harry."

Harry might have disputed that, but decided to hold his peace while she continued, "I went to an all girl's school and then at university … I spent my first year just finding my feet. In the second year I met someone who I really thought….anyway I even went on the pill and one night there was a party and I decided that would be the night, he'd been nagging me to ….…however I had an essay to finish…"

While she paused Harry was recalling his own student juggling between the twin activities of studying and shagging. If you wanted a decent class of degree the former did sometimes have to take pole position despite the lure of the missionary, but even so he did wonder at the obtuseness of his own gender in failing to explore the intimate qualities of such a peach. Possibly she was best appreciated by a more mature experienced taste, which was of course lucky for him. Pulling his straying thoughts about the future back into the present he sat up to look down at her, fascinated by the dissertation on how she'd preserved her virginity until about two hours ago.

"I had to finish the essay and by the time I reached the party the rat had vanished. I went hunting him and discovered him in a corner having a standup fuck with my friend."

"Who rapidly became an ex best friend I assume."

Ruth didn't answer that as she finished her plunge into past history. "I was so shocked and after that I broke it off – the relationship I mean," as she noticed Harry's irrepressible smirk "After that I couldn't trust anyone – then I went to GCHQ and had nothing common with the men there."

"Let me guess too many mathematicians."

Ruth once more jerked bolt upright as she exclaimed, "Exactly what I said to get my transfer, but how did you know?"

Damn – the wine may not have depressed the action of his penis but must have definitely numbed his brain cells, either that or all the blood was still circulating down below. Whatever the root cause he'd just carelessly quoted from the conversation he'd had with HR prior to her appointment.

"I've had the odd contact with them via Malcolm." Turning away from dangerous ground he tried to turn a mistake into a positive. "If we have the same thought it shows we are well matched."

Once again Ruth seemed to have bought it, but in a memo to self Harry noted that he'd have to exert more care or the well crafted plot to neutralise Giles professionally would collapse. Harry habitually lived his life in compartments, further subdivided by headings, a neat survival technique that usually absorbed unplanned events. Now an unexpected disruption called Ruth threatened to undermine not just the operation but his entire existence.

Initially, he'd admit it to himself, her almost dismissal of him on their first meeting by the South Bank had left him slightly affronted, and after her caution exhibited while relaxing over coffee and cake at the Globe he'd been both intrigued and again slightly put out that she hadn't instantly succumbed to his charm offensive. At this point he reminded himself that this continuation of his courtship had been due to a need, as assessed from the bugging of the Grid, to protect a valuable member of his staff – or so he like to think – except of course he'd found himself intrigued by her and now here they were in bed together. A matter complicated by his being her boss topped off with her explaining that basically she demanded a degree of fidelity. A wince making thought given that he had a meeting with Jane on the morrow, during which she would no doubt require him to fulfil his side of their contract.

Walling off these issues for later resolution Harry concentrated on woman lying beside him in the here and now.

"I must ask you to trust me Ruth."

"But we hardly know each other."

Harry demurred softly as his hands began to wander, "I wouldn't say that, your breasts are ever so slightly lopsided, you have a slight scar on your left hip and…"

Before he could descend to describing her nether regions Ruth interrupted a touch tartly, "You have scars in several places that no doubt tell a story – I wasn't referring to the biblical sense – beyond the carnal we know nothing about each other really."

Actually Harry, having read the very thick file compiled by HR from cover to cover, knew a great deal about her, but this wasn't the time to mention that little matter, especially when regulations demanded that their sexual conjunction should have been preceded by the dead hand of a bureaucracy that insisted upon the completion of forms so embarrassing they seemed designed to inflict celibacy on the entire work force of the Security services.

"Well since your job includes uncovering secrets and so, given my freelance status, does mine so we have great deal to look forward to."

"Such as?"

"Just lie back and I'll show you – but please don't think of England."

For the first time that evening Ruth let loose a peal of laughter, "Given the full nature of the quote I should think not."

"Eh!"

"In Lady Hillingdon's journal the full quote is something like, 'When I hear his steps outside my door I lie down on my bed, open my legs and think of England.'"

While wondering if a casual remark on his part would always produce a some obscure piece of Intel Harry couldn't resist prolonging the debate. "So who will you be taking as a role model for the final horizontal encounter of the night?"

Ruth thought for a moment before swiftly replying, "Napoleon's wife," thereby creating a deep sense of disappointment in Harry who under the rumpled covers had been priming himself for more activity between the sheets. "Not tonight Ruth – that's little disappointing."

Pressing the full length of her small body against his Ruth corrected his misapprehension, "No I meant his second wife Marie Louise – she was so delighted with his love making on their wedding night she asked him to do it again."

Taking that as signal to commence foreplay Harry, who was fondling her breasts again, was temporally halted by a further historical gem from Ruth as she added thoughtfully, "Although I believe Napoleon was a little under endowed so it might have not have been as good as…"

Harry was almost purring as her hand began to massage his member tentatively, he adored a quick learner and given the number of areas in which Ruth was already expert she seemed likely to be an even more adept pupil than Jane. The future looked bright, and physical. Becoming aroused he managed to enquire of her before desire took over entirely, "And so Miss Evershed what exactly are you going to be doing?"

"Lie back" As she whispered hesitantly, "and incredible as it may seem I think I love you,"

To which there was only one possible reply, "Good because it's mutual. And that is why you're not going to decorate anyone else's bed."

Reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair from her face Harry kissed her passionately before hauling her upright and pulling her on top of him as he advised her, "and now I'll guide you, but it's my turn to lie back."

"Thinking England?"

Harry who did quite enough of that in his day job shook his head, "No, just about us."

"So we are a couple?"

"As well as just coupling – of course."

And the rest if not exactly silent was certainly satisfactory.

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 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment please review. No promises as to when the next chapter will arrive other than I will try to get it up asap**_


	24. Chapter 24: Deception Continued

_**Thank you to all who read and those who took the trouble to review the last chapter. I'm trying to speed up my gaps between posts but failing miserably.**_

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Once again Harry was stuck waiting upon events. This time the venue hosting his barely controlled patience was a small, shoddy, snack bar on the edge of the Westminster tourist area, this being about as distant from Thames House as Malcolm could realistically manage to reach, eat, swap Intel prior to making a hurried return to his desk within his allotted hour's lunch break.

Huddled over a very basic coffee, trying to look nondescript, Harry was hoping that Malcom's urgent text demanding a meeting, inconveniently activating Harry's mobile while its owner was in the process of giving Ruth his own unique interpretation of an early morning wakeup call, was signalling progress in the operation designed to shaft Giles. Despite Malcolm's earlier warning that the provisional times scale didn't allow for this Harry was still clinging to the forlorn hope that they could shaft Giles before Giles shafted Ruth, an honour that Harry was determined to retain his exclusive rights to.

Inevitably while he was waiting Harry began to replay in his mind the events of the last few hours. It was occurring to him that waiting or brooding was an activity he'd been indulging in with increasing frequency over the previous three weeks. Inevitable he supposed given that until the end game really approached his brief was to watch and wait upon events. Had it always been thus when he was in the field? Long periods of waiting, interspersed by short blasts of hectic, dangerous action. For years he'd mourned his field officer past but now, having removed himself from the Grid, he missed the buzz created by the juggling of several operations simultaneously. Admittedly politicians were a bloody nuisance but he managed to deal with them as he'd dealt with security threats in the Cold War, mainly through the medium of manipulation and half truths. Frankly he couldn't wait to get back to his Grid goldfish bowl, a thought encouraged by the imperative of revealing his true self to Ruth. After last night she'd seen the physical man - all of him.

Harry's brooding was interrupted, by the arrival of Malcolm, who hastily ordered a sandwich and coffee, before taking ownership of the plastic chair opposite Harry as he stated, "I've not much time as Giles has now colluded with HR, and put us all on a combined clocking in and annualised hours regime."

Harry's response was sardonic, "Oh good, so when the maximum hours are reached in about three months hence the terrorists have open season. – is the man mad?"

Malcolm, while not contradicting, was inclined to espouse an alternative theory. "Keen to make his mark by doing the exact opposite of his predecessor, so Harry we need you back asap."

Since the sole area of agreement between Harry and Giles was a mutual desire for unalloyed access to the supine body of Ruth Evershed, although Harry as Horry knew that his motives were by far the purer, Harry not Horry was equally willing to grant Malcolm's request. Never mind the needs of the Grid staff he was now desperately keen to place his relationship with Ruth on a less deceptive footing. Trying to sound blasé he enquired, "But any chance of that?"

He was forced to wait silently as the waitress arrived dumping a cling film wrapped sandwich, accompanied by a cup of even more anaemic coffee that the one Harry was pretending to consume, in front of Malcolm. Once she was safely out of earshot Malcolm, as he stripped away the covering enclosing the café's lamentable contribution to fine dining, advised Harry.

"Well Giles was at ' _Touchstones'_ last night and a message came through. Gavrik has agreed in principle, but wants to know how many documents are involved before he contacts his agent, or more accurately you. "

Before Harry could express any relief Malcolm burst any burgeoning bubble of thankfulness with, "The bad news is Gavrik is so keen on the idea he might come himself to oversee the final bidding."

Harry didn't blench easily but that piece of news succeeded in driving the colour from his cheeks. If Gavrik carried out that plan he would almost certainly decide to instruct his minnow of an operative in person, and Harry would be toast, possibly literally given Gavrik's longstanding enmity. Malcolm having created a mild piece of mischief took pity on his boss as he added soothingly, "I've sent a message to Connie who has now ordered her asset in Moscow to arrange a distraction that will keep him occupied."

Harry wasn't exactly cheered by the implicit vagueness as he demanded, "How exactly?"

"Not sure, Connie keeps her network to herself and enjoys being mysterious."

An assessment Harry had to agree with, although he has sometimes wondered a little about Connie, after all she had been discharged from the service under a cloud of suspicion. But whenever that thought intruded he also reminded himself that Alec also enjoyed proving that the service had dumped him unnecessarily. Given that he had no viable alternative other than to trust, now was not the time to listen to unsubstantiated doubts. Knowing Connie what ever happened would be sufficient to keep Gavrik away, and at present that was all that mattered to Harry.

"So I can look forward to being contacted shortly – any chance of before the weekend?"

Malcolm, knowing exactly why Harry was so concerned, reluctantly shook his head as he gave a definite negative. "Sorry but no. Giles has to get back to Gavrik, then they have to set up a meeting with him after they've contacted you." Having swallowed a mouthful of semi curled sandwich, grimacing at the taste he continued,, "My estimate is middle of next week. In view of the urgency and the havoc on the Grid. I'll send an addendum to Giles stating that the timetable is being hurried forward as the Culture Secretary wants to make a statement to the House."

"And does he?"

With a sarcasm almost worthy of Harry Malcolm enquired, "Don't they always?"

Harry acknowledged the truth of the observation, "Quite, unless they've been caught in conduct unbecoming or lying – and usually we've covered that up for them."

With the current situation updated re the Russian connection Harry, who'd more or less anticipated this current plodding progress, returned to the matter that was much more urgent as he informed his techie, "Then we need to do something to help Ruth."

Malcolm, just checking, enquired, "So she did manage to tell you the truth."

"It took a lot of effort but yes – so since she won't say no because of the risk to Peter I've asked her to give me the date and place."

"And then?"

Harry had to admit he was baffled, "No idea at present. And until I know more of his plans I can't really work out how to foil them."

Malcolm, who preferred not to consider the particulars of the efforts Harry had probably made in extracting information from Ruth, but who was united with him in wanting to help resolve her dilemma, preferably with some grievous results to Giles, took pity on his superior as he attempted to buoy him up,

"I'm a little ahead of you there." Enjoying the confounded look on Harry's face. "Giles was unwise enough to do some booking and googling from his, or rather your office."

"And." Harry snapped, giving up all pretence at calmness.

"As his fiancé is out of town again this weekend I'm assuming the room he's booked into this venue for his planned er…...meeting with Ruth."

Looking at the comfortably appointed hotel illustrated on Malcolm's phone Harry conclude that Giles was at least planning to have Ruth in luxury. The very thought sending his blood pressure up to danger level, although he failed entirely to ask him himself if he'd have been happier if Giles was planning their rendezvous in a doss house in downtown Brixton. Watching Harry Malcolm wondered how he'd react to the next nugget of Intel as he shared the fruits of his further researches,

"Also he was looking online at some very specialised underwear catalogues, designed for both sexes." After years watching real time porn events Malcolm, like most of section D, rarely blushed, but when considering his discoveries in relation to Ruth a shade of embarrassment crossed his normally neutral features.

Harry picking up on this concluded, "I assume we're not talking about support stockings, thermal vests and trusses then."

"Possibly the latter, but not for hernias."

Harry's response was terse, "Pervy Git", hurriedly adding "Not you Malcolm," lest his colleague mistook his target and took offence.

"That's alright Harry, I'll send you the links to the hotel and the catalogue, and I'm working on getting the hotel schematics since I'm assuming that…"

"Yes we may need your expertise Malcom so thank you."

Glancing at his watch Malcom felt the need to add a soupcon of possible advice, "I'll have to go in five minutes Harry, but before then, I'm wondering if we should bug Pete's flat, possibly even put in some visuals. I don't trust Giles to keep his word even if Ruth…"

He left the revolting thought hanging in the air as Harry picked up the theme, "And especially after I've intervened, yes I agree, especially since I do wonder if Ruth will eventually tell her stepbrother what's up." After a moment's consideration he suggested, "Could we get Alec to do the necessary if you can advise him? It would reduce your work load."

Malcolm having had a similar notion regarding the involvement of the third and more ribald commentator of their trio agreed, "He'll jump at the idea of a break from Connie, so yes I'll ask him to call round tonight."

Harry shoot him one of his rare smiles, "Thank you Malcolm," then asking, "How as Ruth when she came in this morning?"

"A little rushed but she seemed happier. Obviously I didn't ask…" volunteering, "I'll keep watch out for her on the Grid as I'd hate to see her hurt."

Harry, not sure if that was an oblique reference to accurate suspicions of the his actions of the previous night, was keeping his counsel as he asked, "And how's Sarah"

Harry wasn't the only one to preserve his secrets; Malcolm also knew how to play cagey. "Very well, and on a mission up North for the next fortnight – something to do with security and the plans for the Northern Powerhouse I believe."

"Yorkshire v Lancashire arguing over the spoils, as per….." commented the Yorkshire born Harry.

Malcolm unbent a tad as, for a change, he passed on Intel not revolving around Giles, "From the little she's been able to tell me it sounds like the Wars of the Roses rebooted."

With that Malcolm took his leave, practically running out of the cafe. Left alone Harry leant back in the plastic chair, ignoring the hard pressure it made across his shoulder blades as he contemplated the situation. Normally he'd be rejoicing at the fact that the operation as planned seemed to proceeding without a hitch, not only would he be ridding the country of a dangerous menace within the service, he'd also, as collateral damage would be embarrassing senior members of the government, and Jane had given him enough extra information from the world of business to allow a mopping up operation in several quarters by the Fraud Squad. He should be punching the air, especially since, as an unlooked for bonus, he'd even been able to bed two attractive and very grateful women in the process. And that of course formed the problem he was now stuck with. He'd made a contract with Jane whom he'd come to like enormously, and then without even knowing it he, the man without a heart allegedly, had fallen for a pair of wonderful eyes and a sharp intelligence that matched his own. Ruth….. even in these dismal surroundings the memory of those blue eyes and musical voice, the one dilating and the other crying out in passion was haunting him. Unlike previous women he couldn't just lock her away in a compartment marked sex, somehow she'd inveigled himself into the back of his mind whatever he did. He wanted to be with her, while current circumstances dictated that he had to keep Jane happy as well, he couldn't risk just dropping out of the latter's life without explanation, she'd be hurt and might just start making enquires that could endanger the operation. Still in a few days time he would return to the Grid and ….that gave him pause for further angst, how would Ruth react to the idea that without knowing it she'd fallen for her boss? Yet if they hadn't meet off the Grid would they ever have circumvented the normal workplace barriers raised between superior and subordinate. The one fortunate fact was that Ruth was a spook, desk spook admittedly but at least she would understand that sometimes officers had to undertake actions for the greater good, especially since it had allowed him to rescue her from Giles. Unless….could she argue, would she argue that without the operation he'd initiated in the first instance she'd never have been placed in the position being blackmailed by that git? But then as he'd already recognised would they have been condemned to a lifetime of longing instead of the mutual pleasure they'd discovered last night? Recognising that the circular arguments were making his head spin and following Malcolm's example in checking his watch Harry decided to shelve these fruitless internal debates. The time for introspection was limited as he was due across town at Jane's in about an hour's time.

Back on the Grid, Ruth while working steadily, and to all outward appearances calmly, was in fact churning up inside. Sitting at her work station she was able, in between trying to extrapolate from limited data which set of head bangers formed a clear and present danger to the community, and which individuals of interest fell into the vast category of hotheads who'd deflate at the first sight of trouble, she was reviewing the events of the evening and morning.

She was somewhat shocked at herself. After years of avoiding personal contact she'd decided that she was rational and cold, set for the clichéd lifestyle of a bluestocking with cats. Then at the first touch of Harry's lips she'd melted, made no protest whatsoever as he'd eased her legs apart and, despite her lack of prior experience, unhesitatingly allowed him to fill her with what even she recognised was a substantial penis. She ought to be ashamed of herself. Her words to him later as they lay in bed, after she'd permitted round two, that they knew nothing of each other was true. Now removed from his persuasive presence she was calling her analytical skills into play and realising with a twinge of doubt that in effect she'd been seduced by a charming stranger, who'd followed through the exertions of the night with a horizontal work out of the type which had dispensed with the need for an alarm clock. The nearest either of them had come to a rational thought being his polite enquiry as to whether the taxi he'd arranged for her should stop by a chemist for the morning after pill. His look of relief when she'd informed them that despite her celibate lifestyle she'd remained on the pill had been almost comical. So she'd been seduced by an individual of whom she knew virtually nothing, other than he was a friend of the upright Malcolm, and to this man she'd entrusted with both her body and the story of Giles, becoming utterly dependent upon him to save her from the latter. His final words as he'd kissed her goodbye before settling her into the taxi being, "Let me know the time and place as we discussed." The presence of the taxi driver presumably preventing him saying more. She could only hope that he would be able to find a way to preserve her from the loathsome embraces of Giles, her skin that had been so electrified by Harry's gentle touch was crawling at the thought of intimacies with someone other. Even the memory of Harry kissing her made her tremble with anticipation for their next date. Obviously, given the skill with which he'd displayed in making love to her, she'd be naïve not to recognise that he was a man of considerable sexual experience, but Harry, knowing how hurt she'd been in her past had assured her that he also wanted an exclusive relationship. He'd asked her to trust him and that was what she would do, she'd be foolish to judge him by his past, it was the present and future that mattered, a future in which she was his and he was hers, forsaking all others.

Meanwhile in a bedroom elsewhere in London Harry Pearce was once more dropping his trousers for England.

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 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated.**_


	25. Chapter 25: The Light Bulb Moment

_**Thanks to those who read the last chapter. Sorry not Harry and Ruth this time so please forgive me, whether you want to forgive Harry is a different matter.**_

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 **Therefore fasten your ears on my**

 **advising. To the love I have in**

 **doing good, a remedy presents itself Act 3 Sc 1 1999 - 201**

Lying in bed with Jane a thoroughly exhausted Harry was definitely feeling his age, to the point where, temporarily at least, he didn't much want to feel a woman, especially one who might make be planning to make further physical demands on his rapidly depleting energy. As Jane snuggled up next to him, breasts pressing against him and right leg half sprawled across his left thigh he was trusting that his just completed, if somewhat routine performance, had been adequate enough to sate her. When this operation was finally concluded he was going to convert to a state that he had once believed to be boring and lacking in variety: that of a one woman man. The last half hour or so had been incredibly difficult, for while his body had responded as required, it had been on a form of autopilot, with his mind treacherously straying back to memories of the previous night when it had been Ruth lying beneath him. At his age he'd finally learnt the difference between shagging and love making, in circumstances that were forcing him to suppress all thoughts of Ruth while preserving the civilities with Jane. Rationalising that he'd been required to carry out infinitely worse undercover actions in the service of his country than lie on a well sprung mattress accessorised by a duck down duvet and a beautiful, willing, woman wasn't helping. He was Harry Pearce not James fucking Bond, but given that even in real life England expected every man to do his duty, he reached out an arm to pull Jane closer towards him physically if not mentally. Given the qualms in what passed for his conscience Harry became even more apprehensive as she whispered the job appraisal into his ear,

"Not quite your usual vigour Harry."

A remark that was ambiguous enough to make him uncertain as to whether it was a statement or a question, as he managed to respond, "Sorry an early start and busy morning." A truthful response, he just hoped she wouldn't ask for the precise details of what he'd been busy with. He was destined to be disappointed as she suddenly sat bolt upright, a process that while it disarranged the bedcovers he was skulking under at least produced a nice cooling draught across his chest, as she commented bluntly,

"I daresay – so who is she?"

For once Harry was short of a glib answer. Naked was not the ideal clothing in which to confront this situation, especially with Jane's hands lingering in the proximity of his intimate regions. Having given her several master classes in the arts of arousal he might be about to reap a whirlwind. If she was so minded she now knew exactly where and what to squeeze to inflict maximum damage on his crown jewels. A nervousness that intensified as she began to finger the said parts of his anatomy.

Jane, after spending about sixty seconds enjoying the sight of his confusion showed some mercy, as she withdrew her hand saying with just a tinge of regret,

"I'll miss these, but I was going to terminate our contract early anyway."

Relief for Harry, although contradictory creature that he was, this was now mingling with a sense of being mildly miffed at his unceremonious dismissal from her employ.

"You mean you're dumping me."

Jane ignoring his borderline indignant tone informed him, "More like giving you a redundancy notice. The job is being upgraded to a full time post." Ending simply, "I've met someone."

Harry refrained from saying, "Snap" as he enquired testily,

"Who presumably is reaping the rewards of my teaching."

Jane at least had the courtesy not to deny this, although she chose not to answer directly. "Those were the terms. A straightforward limited time contract. Information for sex."

Harry, never one to let a home truth halt him, said half in specious mourning, "After all the effort I've put in."

Jane, picking up on his semi seriousness gave a chuckle as she reminded him, "Something more tangible than effort, and yes Harry I have a lot to thank for you for."

Seeing his dubious look she explained, "Without you and your umm tuition, after the Giles debacle, I'd never had had the confidence to say yes to dinner with…" She halted, realising she was about to give away personal information, allowing Harry to smile,

"So who is he…I promise I'm not jealous, but after the last three weeks just curious as to the identity of this Adonis."

Jane hesitated for a few more moments before saying slowly, "He's called Robin Tindall. He's a headteacher at a very large school…"

Harry, recalling the reason for Jane's absence and recent forays out of London, exclaimed, "Light dawns - the education contract you were tracking down."

"Yes and … I really like him so…."

Harry, while deciding that he was going to ask Malcolm to run a check and make sure that Jane hadn't taken up with another dubious character after Giles, not to mention the faked individual personified in the Horatio Prince currently inhabiting her bed, reassured her.

"No I'm glad for you Jane. You deserve someone reliable and decent in your life. And I have to thank you for all the information you've passed to me on Giles. At least you've had your revenge."

A shadow crossed Jane's face as she sighed, "Yes."

Empathy wasn't Harry's strongest attribute but even he managed to pick up the undertow of regret.

"That sound like a yes but…"

Jane flopping back against him, her hair ticking his chin as his arm involuntarily stretched once more around her shoulders, sighed, "I know, it's just that after what he did to me I'd have liked to make him squirm personally - humiliate him the way he humiliated me."

"And dumping him wasn't sufficient, or letting him think we were in a relationship."

"Well that last didn't turn out to be a lie did it. We are sort of attached I suppose, and I'm being silly."

Harry managed to refute that one. "No I understand but …." Flinging caution to the wind he added, "I'd love to see him sexually humiliated as well. In the course of my investigations I've discovered he's blackmailing another victim…"

Jane's sympathy was instant. "Poor woman." Then came the question, "Is she your new lady?"

Seeing that Harry wasn't about to reply she abandoned the enquiry, "Well not my business really but…" Following up with the voice of experience that deftly echoed Harry's own deepest worries, "knowing what he's like…"

"Precisely, and like you Jane she's really… "

As he searched for a word Jane found it for him, "Inexperienced, although I bet you'll have that sorted out in no time." Laughing at him as he decided whether to react she added, "Should I give you a reference?"

Surprised that Harry hadn't replied, repartee being one of his more attractive non physical attributes, she suddenly noticed that he was frowning, not at her ribald comment, but with the expression of one in deep thought. Then in his face she saw reflected what she'd seen when he was referring to others, but never yet turned onto her, a calculating apprising glance, that was almost, despite her nude, and she hoped attractive state, impersonal. As if he was weighing the odds and trying to decide if they were in his favour.

She was in fact entirely accurate in this surmise. As Harry had uttered his last few words he'd suddenly experienced a lightbulb moment. As a plan it was even more bonkers that the idea of pretending to flog off the BBC …but looking at Jane, smallish, dark haired, ….. could it work? If it did Jane would get her revenge, Ruth could preserve whatever shards of virtue Harry had left her with and best of all Giles would be stuffed…..if ….but would she agree….and was it technically possible? He'd have to ask Malcolm and he could just see his disapproving face …. but first of all….. well he could ask… So taking a deep breath as he gently fingered her breasts to remind her of the contrast between himself and Giles he ventured …

"Er….. Jane just an idea and it would need developing but how would you feel about…."

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 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated.**_


	26. Chapter 26: The Peter and Ruth Show

**As ever many thanks to those who read and reviewed. I keep promising to update more often but real life is proving a little intractable at present**.

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 **Bring me to hear them speak ,**

 **where I may be concealed Act 3 Sc 1 54-55**

As the Senior Team trekked their way out the meeting room, having enjoyed the morning Briefing aka the 'Giles Bamford Smythe Ego Show' the said individual flung out his final order, "Ruth my office now." Once back onto the Grid floor Danny was muttering beneath his breath expletives that under normal circumstances would have seen Malcolm pursing his lips in disapproval, had he not been distracted by Zoe's semi serious teasing of Ruth, "Glad I'm not the blue eyed girl". While wincing at the utter insensitivity of the remark he reminded himself that Zoe was ignorant of the real situation pertaining between Ruth and Giles, and would have been horrified had she known. Ruth wasn't about to enlighten her either, confining her reply to a weary, "Wish they were brown then," before savagely thumping her ever present armful of files onto her desk with a force whose vibrations sent the angle poise lamp crashing onto the floor with disastrous consequences. Scooping up the probably fatally damaged metal with an exasperated 'Oh thing' she dumped the offending remnants into the nearby waste bin as a precursor to entering the now almost permanently blind barred glassy office. As a form of Pavlovian reaction Malcom at the sound of the door snapping shut found himself reaching for his headphones. A response that was rapidly becoming a habit, one that he would gladly rid himself of the instant Harry returned to his rightful position on the Grid.

Ruth once inside the office stood silently in front of Giles, attempting to pretend that this was a normal consultation between Section Head and analyst. Any hope that that might indeed be the situation was blasted in an instant by Giles, whose relaxed demeanour as he sat raking her up and down with his eyes seemed ominous, before he proceeded to inform her,

"Ruth, you need the venue for our date."

Malcolm, unable to access any visuals, divined from the sharpness of Ruth's reply that she was fighting not to be intimidated as she protested vehemently,

"It is not a date."

A statement that earned her a firm rebuke,

"Ruth you must rid yourself of this habit of contradicting me. It is most unbecoming in a subordinate officer."

Ruth had the good sense not to antagonise him further, allowing Giles a brief pause before he continued, a rustling noise indicating some form of unseen action, the sound reaching Malcolm's ears being explained as Giles commented, "I've written down the hotel address, room and time for you."

"Thank you." Ruth didn't expand, although Malcolm thought he caught a slightly sarcastic inflection. Giles anticipating some opposition waited but then continued, "I must also insist that you attend properly dressed for the occasion. I've ordered something suitable for you to wear, at my expense."

"I prefer my own choice."

Malcolm, while cheering Ruth's refusal to be cowed, detected a slight air of menace in Giles next words. "Ruth I will not repeat myself – the items will be delivered to your flat tomorrow morning by courier."

Only for Ruth, ignoring the previous advice in respect of honouring the boss, to remind him, "I'll be at work".

This availed her nothing as Giles fell back upon the privileges of the management supremo. "I am, on this occasion, willing to permit you to arrive late."

Ruth, in what Malcom suspected was a last desperate attempt to assert herself, while ignoring this gracious permission stated,

"I haven't agreed yet."

But you will Ruth, remember your brother poor Peter. Of course if you want him imprisoned or worse that will be your responsibility and choice. And I can't think you'd enjoy prison either."

A smug response that made Malcom, one of the lest combative of men, long for the satisfaction of planting his fist firmly in Giles face, the mocking tone alone should be considered illegal.

Ruth deprived of any further defences was dismissed with, "You may go – and I'm looking forward to Saturday night."

By the time a visibly distressed Ruth emerged from this encounter Malcolm had hastily stripped off his headphones, deposited them in his desk drawer and adopted his customary default posture of fixedly staring at his computer screen. Now virtually alone on the Grid, since thankfully Zoe and Danny had departed on various investigations, "Anything to get out of the way of that bastard" being Danny's comment as he exited with a whoosh from the pods. Malcolm, after a quick glance at Jed, who was working his desultory way through a snowdrift of identity papers that required checking, rang through to Giles, "Sorry to disturb you Sir, but I need to take Ruth down to the Registry. The latest risk assessment on the Hawkins documentation matches up with an old case. I need her to check a couple of connections with me."

A thin excuse at best, but Malcolm was trading on Giles glorying in his own prestige, rather than concentrating on the minutiae of operations. Efficient he might have been in Six but power had increasingly gone to his head in Five. Malcolm wasn't given to gloating but he was counting down the days to Harry's return and Giles comeuppance. If Giles was now under the impression that he walked on water, Malcolm was looking forward to his eventual drowning, metaphorically speaking. For now though protecting Ruth was his priority. She might have explained the fix she was in to Harry, but Malcolm believed that the time had come for her to have an additional, easily available confidant on the Grid, and for that conversation he needed to remove her from Giles' sight. Standing up as Ruth approached her own desk, presumably to tidy away the havoc her earlier reaction to Giles summons had caused before disappearing once again into the sanctum of the Ladies, he tersely informed her, "Ruth Registry now", whisking her towards the pods before she had a chance to protest.

Ruth shaking in the aftermath of her encounter and keen to distance herself, however temporarily, from Giles, didn't even question this order, its bald brevity being so uncharacteristic of the usually courteous Malcolm. As she accompanied him down the labyrinth of corridors towards the rarely visited temple of ancient paper based Intel and long buried secrets, her mind was a jumble of indecision. She now had the information Harry had wanted but where was he? He'd not contacted her, should she try to contact him? All her misgivings of the previous day were beginning to surface. That she'd foolishly fallen for a philander who, having made false protestations of love and phantom promises, had slaked his lust and now dumped her, leaving her to do what exactly? She'd be prepared to risk prison for herself, that might well be preferable to a lifetime of remembering sex with Giles, but Peter…..unbidden the thought filtered through her head that her stepbrother was exploiting her, but contradicting that burgeoning belief was the knowledge that the diagnosis of depression was correct, she'd hacked his medical records to check, so how could she walk away from his need? Pulling herself back into the present she forced herself to give Malcolm a wane smile as she swiped her pass and entered the basement storage in his wake. Having nerved herself to concentrate on the task in hand, whatever that was - Malcolm had been a touch vague - she was therefore astounded when once inside the soundproof and secure environment of the Registry instead of heading for the banks of files, Malcolm, after a very through scouring of the area to check that they were the sole visitors in situ, guided her towards a small table, waved her into one seat, pulled out a nearby box file which he opened at random before taking the opposite chair and gravely informed her,

"Now we look as if we are studying some papers…" Seeing her alarmed expression he explained his actions, "Ruth I'm not blind, Giles has clearly upset you so if you need to talk to someone I'm here. Confidentiality guaranteed."

Ruth swallowed hard, but after the strains of the last few hours she failed to prevent the tears from falling although her words belied the feeling of relief. "I can't at least…." Anything further was halted by Malcolm presenting her with a man sized handkerchief and the information that, "Ruth I'll have kept worse secrets than whatever it is so…"

Malcolm, when he later relayed the finale of this conversation to Harry, via yet another clean pay as you go phone destined to be dumped in the Thames, said, "She took a little persuading but I think the poor girl was so desperate that in your absence I seemed a good substitute, so she more or less confided in me."

Harry, a little guilty that Ruth had suffered the pangs of desertion, needed to know, "And you advised what precisely?"

"Well she said she'd told you but didn't see what you could do – I told her to trust you. And added that since I also knew you I'd be willing to help."

Harry had heaved a sigh of relief "Well that does make life little easier. I can involve you without so much juggling. Alec I can include as another friend."

Malcolm informed him hopefully, "That might not be necessary – I've suggested she speaks to Peter about this – I mean surely he'd tell her not to…" Malcolm had halted at that point, clearly not wanting to articulate the mental image of Giles humping Ruth. Harry appreciated the reticence, he was suffering with the same problem, with even worse imaginings considering the details Jane had vouchsafed of her carnal encounters with priapic git.

"And…"

"After the his phone call this afternoon, which of course she doesn't know I've recorded, she's more or less been forced to visit him this evening after work. I'll send you both recordings but can I suggest you watch in from the post set up yesterday." It was a new experience for Harry to be bossed around by Malcolm and he wasn't sure he approved. However he didn't have time to argue, so now he stuck in the flat next door to Pete's sordid domicile once more waiting upon events over which he had minimal control, something else he profoundly disapproved of.

Fortunately the flat was currently unoccupied, the buy to let merchant who owned it having absconded after a dispute with the Drugs Squad. Whoever he had sublet it to had possessed, judging by the smell, a distinct proclivity for the wacky baccy, while correspondingly little had been spent on providing much beyond very basic furniture and even less on the décor, which consisted of ancient emulsion pockmarked with blu-tack, a single light with a tattered white paper shade and a carpet that you stuck to when walking across the room. A small chat with the letting agent had magically produced the keys on the promise of covering some of their unpaid fees, combined with a quiet word to clear the company of any suspicion of collusion in the trading of illegal substances. After that, during the previous evening it had been a simple job for Alec to wait until Pete vanished in the direction of the off licence, create a diversion to delay him, something involving a rottweiller and a bicycle, while Malcolm broke through the flimsy lock and fitted a very small basic camera and microphone in the subject of interest's living room.

Watching the grainy image flicking from the feed in Pete's flat Harry was reminded of his increasingly distant youth. The picture quality being only a minor improvement on that of the TV set his father, like so many of her loyal subjects, had purchased in order to watch the Queen's coronation, an event that had preceded Harry's birth by a few months. Still he was old enough to have grown up with monochrome broadcasting. Good practice, but now he was viewing a very different type of production, although despite the images currently in front of him being sharper than those of her Majesty in full regalia, the latter would have been a much superior sight to the real life documentary adorning his computer screen. Even acknowledging the fact that Pete was totally unaware that he was on air, the sight of him drunkenly slumped into the tatty sofa cushions, watching what Harry suspected was a porn movie while casually playing with himself, was not life enhancing viewing. Depressed he might be but Harry's sympathy was limited, as in non existent, given the tone of the lunch time call to Ruth's mobile.

Answered on the Grid it had been captured and transferred to a sound file by the indispensable Malcolm, who having already persuaded Ruth to talk to Peter had judged, correctly in Harry's opinion, that the self pitying sob story poured into her ears was bound to further distress Ruth. Given that this was the second recording of the day relaying the events currently irradiating Ruth's life, Harry, while he waited for Alec to return with some fast food was, in the absence of any other activity on offer, listening to the conversation, the contents of which were sufficient to make him strain against an overwhelming urge to abandon his long practised personal mantra of self control and self denial. Given the option Harry would have joyfully authorised a kill order on both Giles and Peter. An visceral reaction that would have removed them both permanently from Ruth's life, even at the price of denying Harry the satisfaction of giving them both a through thrashing. Forced to rein himself in for the sake of the operation it remained a toss up as to which of the two conversations relayed had created the greater havoc with his blood pressure, even recalling the contents of each was escalating it to dangerous heights.

Without the slightest preamble or civilised enquiry as to Ruth's health or convenience the instant she'd answered her ears had been assailed with the sound of Peter sobbing, "Ruthie, I'm going mad, I really want this to be over and…." In the brief pause, given as further sniffle echoed down the ether, Ruth managed to a quiet protest. "Peter I'm at work and I can't….."

"I know I'm a nuisance – no one wants me or cares."

Cynically Harry thought that was small wonder as he listened to Ruth trying to steer her way through the torrents of emotional blackmail. Listening to Pete's snivelling Harry was grinding his teeth, while marvelling at Ruth's patience and kindness to a man who seemed to expect her to wave a magic wand and make all well.

"I really want this to be over Ruth." An emotion that Harry shared when Peter made the ultimate threat of topping himself, an ambition Harry would have furthered had it not been for the life time of recrimination that Ruth, and by extension he himself, would be living with.

"I really really think that I ought to end it all, everyone would be better off."

A statement previously uttered by Giles with whom, for once, Harry found himself in total agreement – a thought that further embellished Pete's card with a black mark,

After a few more minutes of like snivelling Ruth had finally seemed to cave in and agree to visit Pete, not revealing that she'd already planned to do so. A wise decision Harry thought. Once this operation was settled and he could return to the Grid he'd be taking steps to ensure that Pete's contact with Ruth was severely reduced. For now he was paying a tribute to Malcolm's self control, his normally law abiding peaceable friend and colleague having expressed a desire to give that young man a piece of his mind.

"Well use that piece of mind Malcolm to pull Ruth out of the mire, as this is what…." Although when he'd proceeded to outline his embryo plan to Malcolm the latter had gasped down the phone in horror before asking with shock, "And Jane is okay with this ….?"

While assuring Malcolm that this was indeed the case, Harry was ignoring his own concerns that Jane, having had the leisure to process the implications, might just back out at the last moment, which would create a problem since at present he had no backup plan. His only certainty was that somehow by means, that would definitely be foul, he was going to thwart Giles, which led him into pondering exactly how Ruth managed to wriggle under his own emotionally defensive barriers. Erected as a direct result of his near catastrophic emotional involvement with Elena he'd coped for years without a special someone in his life, temporary relationships, abandoned within weeks before anything remotely serious could develop, he'd got used to the loneliness, even told himself it was best given the leverage that family and friends could provide for the unscrupulous, and heaven alone knew he had plenty of enemies, of whom Ilya Gavrik was only one. Just when he'd settled for sinking into permanent singledom as the price he paid for a job he usually relished with its wheeling and dealing he'd crashed, while undercover, into his fate in the unlikely shape of the very shapely, bright eyed , intelligent Ruth Evershed and then bang. Why she had so entranced him where other women failed was a question he'd been continually asking himself during the enforced leisure of his past few days. Indulging in the luxury of a sigh he decided that introspection was useless – he'd fallen for Ruth and that was it. Any further musings being truncated by the arrival of Alec bearing with him the inevitable Chinese carry out, accompanied by the equally inevitable six pack of beer. Dumping them casually on the small rickety table placed beside the rather more substantial one on which the laptop monitor was perched, he glanced at the static scene unfolding in front of them with the comment, "Good, back in time for the floor show".

Staring more closely at the sole figure on display he gave his professional assessment of the flat's inhabitant, "Not exactly prepossessing is he!"

Harry, who hadn't eaten all day, was spooning a generous helping of fried rice, chow mein, black bean sauce and crispy duck onto a knife scored plastic plate as he responded with a degree of pointed sarcasm, "Let's see, unemployed, gets drunk, wears the same clothes all the time and never cleans up his living quarters, who does that remind me of!"

A completely unabashed Alec, bypassing the food in favour of the drink, continued as if Harry hadn't spoken, "And his step sister seems devoted to him, women really are funny."

Harry, recalling with a shudder the lightly tattooed, rainbow haired charmer with scanty underwear he'd found lounging around Alec's cellar bedsit when he'd marched into Alec's living quarters to bribe him on board for the current operation, reminded his ally, "Well you'd be the expert on funny women", provocatively adding, "Just as well Connie's taken you in hand."

"Not literally thank God – is it true she had an affair with what was his name?" Seeing that Harry wasn't going to enlighten Alec reminded his overpaid boss, "We can't all afford champagne, and if anyone bonking Connie deserves an award for bravery."

Harry demurred a trifle. "She has a softer side." To be greeted by a derisive snort from Alec, "I'll bet someone said that about Lizzie Borden. I don't know about an axe but when I did the internal investigation on one of Connie's ops I discovered that she's a whizz with a bra wire."

Ignoring this comment, which was actually quite true, but referred to Connie's contribution to the extraction of two agents from behind the Iron Curtain, Harry preferred to reply to the latter part of Alec's complaint. "And Alec I don't buy women champagne or malt whisky – good wine now that's different."

Abandoning an argument he was never going to win and wasn't particularly bothered about, Alec returned to the subject in on screen, "Speaking of whining – when does Miss Evershed arrive?"

After a quick glance at his watch Harry reassured his fellow viewer, "According to Malcolm's text, judging from the time she left the Grid, her eta is any time now."

"Good – I've seen more than enough of Peter – no wonder Angela Wells dumped him – how did he attract her in the first place?"

"You said it earlier Alec - women are funny."

Alec nodded sagely, "I suppose some like a bit of rough."

"As you also know, no doubt."

Any further bantering was abandoned by the shrill ringing of a doorbell, although Pete didn't exactly leap up to answer, in fact he remained in the same position, his sole exertion being pick up the remote to turn off the television. As a key was heard scratching in the background the irrepressible Alec remarked, "I hope he's putting his dick away as well". This being his last remark before the sitting room opened to reveal the arrival of Ruth. With her entrance into the fray food and drink were both forgotten.

For Harry the sight of her even in these circumstances was heart stopping, although he did feel a tad uncomfortable at spying on her, while Alec breathed quietly: "So this is the lady – not quite what I expected but…."

An impatient wave of Harry's hand silenced him as they both settled down to watch how the visit played out.

Having gained admittance to the sanctum Ruth's immediate preoccupation was not with the sudden flurry of activity from the sofa as Pete zipped himself up, but with the state he'd reduced his surroundings to within less than a bare fortnight since she'd spent her misnamed day of rest cleaning the place up and restocking the kitchen cupboards.

"Really Peter I know you're having a bad time but what have you been doing?"

"More like what he's not been doing." Muttered by the unseen Alec the connoisseur of sordid surroundings, further remarks were halted by a hasty "Ssshh" from Harry staring fixedly at the sight of his beloved, who was currently reacting with what could best be characterised as exasperated weariness as she continued her interrogation, "Can't you even manage to wash up a mug?"

Pete wasn't to be distracted by the suggestion that he compensated for his many sorrows by indulging in any useful activity as he totally ignored the complaint to moan, "Like it matters, like anyone want to visit me or cares."

Ruth, who up to now had treated her stepbrother with kid gloves, despite suffering her own traumas, of which the most recent had inflicted on her by Peter's inability to organise his life and man up, finally snapped back,

"Well I'm here, so how dare you say that."

"Liar, if you cared you could get any charges dropped immediately."

As Ruth, giving up on the idea of holding any sensible conversation, began to turn on her heel with the obvious intention of walking out a suddenly energised Peter sprang up to bar her way shouting, "This tells me how much you care – I received it in the post today. You liar, you've known for weeks that you could make this all go away." Words accompanied by his thrusting of a letter into her hand.

If Harry and Alec were astounded by this utterly unexpected turn of events that was nothing to Ruth's reaction. Taking the letter and stepping back into the room, she plumped herself down on to the thin sofa cushions as she read the communication that was frustratingly not to be displayed on screen. The stricken expression on her face as she scanned the contents was echoed by Harry, who although no stranger to the art of emotional blackmail – a standard technique in every interrogators tool kit to break down the recalcitrant – was now receiving, albeit at a remove, a practical demonstration of its effectiveness when used to twist the knife on someone he cared for. Having experienced a qualm of conscience he instantly smothered it with the reminder that he used the technique in the pursuit of 'Regnum Defende', a far remove from the actions of the worm on screen pressurising Ruth into rescuing him from the results of his own inadequacies.

Peter remained standing in the same spot as he ranted, "See what I mean, you're just like all the rest of them smile to my face but…."

Ruth cut across this in a slightly tremulous voice, "I know who this has come from. It's not me who can get the charges dropped, but my boss."

At these words Alec heard a sudden outward whoosh of Harry's breath as he turned an interesting shade of fury driven scarlet, sufficient to make Alec turn his attention away from the screen to advise his companion "Now now Harry it won't help Ruthie if you expire," before returning transfixed by the real life action movie.

"So what do you have to do to persuade him?"

In the absence of a colour transmission Harry and Alec both assumed that Ruth was blushing bright red as she quaveringly informed her step brother, "He want me to sleep with him. But I can't. "

"Why not?"

"Because I loathe him, the very thought makes my flesh crawl."

"So my life literally isn't worthy a fuck." As Ruth stared at him he informed her stricken face, "For God's sake Ruthie all you have to do is open your legs for five minutes."

Over in the other side of the wall Alex was struggling to restrain Harry who'd jumped up with a roar at this statement. Although practically incoherent with rage, Alec thought he could distinguish the words 'bastard' and 'kill'. Taking a firm grip of Harry's shoulders, he pushed his companion back onto the abandoned chair, which groaned under the force used as he advised, "Harry wait, see what she says…" " It doesn't matter the…." Alec was experiencing a rarity, Harry Pearce struggling with a fury that he could barely articulate.

Back in the flat Ruth was ashen faced as she realised the true depths of Pete's self absorption while protesting, "It's not as simple as that Peter….."

"Well I'll show what's simple…" with one bound Ruth was not free, but Peter had vanished into the kitchen to emerge with the bottle of Domestos, screw top off and nozzle held to his lips, "I'll drink this Ruth and you won't be able to stop me. I can do it any time …..and you'll be responsible… knowing that you could have prevented it."

Ruth, eyeing him with a contempt that would have seared any sane person, stood up. From the angle at which she stood to the camera Harry and Alec could see clearly that she was shaking with anger as she shouted.

"Very well Pete, I'll do it but you'll never see me again. And I'm thinking of our parents not you –"

Pete, his point won, instantly put down the bottle and made to hug her. As Ruth backed off in disgust he reverted to his wheedling voice, "Ruthie it'll be okay." It seemed that he might have just emerged from his cocoon of selfishness sufficiently to register the hostility that, despite the barrier of a wall, was reaching even Harry and Alec in waves as he prepared to excuse himself to her.

"I know that you….." But Ruth hijacked sentence, "Make me sick to my stomach" as she delivered a slap whose volume made Harry and Alec wince. Even as Harry approvingly muttered, "Good girl" the reverberating sound of the flat door slamming shut indicated that Ruth had stormed out.

Watching as Pete returned to the sofa, seemingly indifferent to her departure as he opened yet another beer, Alec was reminded of their own refreshment bar. Snapping open a can he pushed it towards Harry, an action that succeeded in making the latter unball his fists. After taking a swig Alec, who like most spooks, tended not to be haunted by ethical considerations but appalled at what he had just witnessed, enquired of the exemplar of upright behaviour steaming beside him, "What sort of bloke pimps his sister?" A would be rhetorical question to which Harry snarled an answer, "One who won't live much longer if I have anything to do with it."

Finishing his beer and gagging over a couple more mouthfuls of the now congealing repast Harry asked, "Can you clear up?

"I could, but don't you want me to stay on Peter watch in case he…."

"Tops himself – I doubt he will, and frankly I don't care. It would solve the problem."

Alec, who remained every bit as disgusted as Harry, felt obliged to issue a reminder to his anger blinded employer, "I know that. But if he did…. won't Ruth…"

An undue sensitivity on Alec's part that pulled Harry up short. While he had every intention, once he and Ruth went public as a couple, of keeping Peter well away from them, a posting to some disease ridden part of the former colonies beckoned, it was almost certainly true that despite her angry words if Pete did relieve the world of his worthless presence Ruth would blame herself eternally, and Harry had lived with guilt often enough to know how it seeped into every corner of your existence. With a sigh he agreed, "Very well, I assume Connie can cope on her own with Serge."

"I doubt he wants to break free, but she has a gun and glare. Anyway Tom swung by yesterday." Correctly decoding Harry's sudden start Alec reassured him "It's okay, that operation is working to plan. The big boss is off sunning himself and gave Tom a week's leave so Tom booked himself into a luxury hotel abut twenty miles from Connie's – in his words he needed to live up to his legend of being a luxury loving loner whose unsavoury activities are matched by a love for nature, so he's also scouting for places to set up a private, to be offset against tax, wildlife reserve."

"Neogations with Connie?"

"As a possible site owner, not an exhibit although…." Before Alec could develop the theme Harry interrupted with a grateful, "Thanks Alec and now I must be going."

"Where to?"

"Ruth's. I can't leave her in that state."

Alec was seriously wondering if Harry's wits were deserting him as he expostulated, "And your excuse for turning up? You can't tell her you've been stalking her."

Harry dismissed this very sensible concern with, "I'll think of something." As he pulled on his outdoor coat, a casual jacket Alec noted rather than the formal wear of the Grid, as he headed towards the exit.

Knowing that a fertile imagination and a knack for improvisation had been one of Harry's greatest qualities in the field Alec let the topic drop. And if he did cock a quizzical eyebrow it was behind Harry's retreating back, as the would be knight vanished in search of his lady fair.

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 **Thanks for reading and a review would be appreciated. As this is the last before Christmas and New Year best wishes to all my readers. Hope you all at least get a chance to relax**


	27. Chapter 27: Harry Visits Ruth

_**Thanks for the reviews to the last chapter and Happy New Year to all my readers. Wish I could promise to update more frequently but it would be a lie. Oh and part of this chapter content might stray into M rated territory but I really don't want to change the rating for an odd chapter.**_

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 **Therefore fasten your eyes on my advisings**

 **To the love I have in doing good, a**

 **remedy presents itself.**

 **Act 3 Sc 1 199-201**

The man sheltering in the shadow of a tall building watching the entrance to a nearby set of flats might have found himself reported to the police as a potential stalker, had any of the passers-by been interested enough to notice him. Fortunately this being London everyone was a stranger, and neighbourhood watch not something anyone had time for. Harry, who in his normal work mode had been known to curse this indifference, ' _didn't you think it strange that someone living on the third floor needed two huge bags of fertiliser for their window box_ " was, given his current circumstances grateful for this metropolitan take on the three wise monkeys. In his eagerness to comfort Ruth he'd made a rare miscalculation. Accustomed to travelling courtesy of government chauffeured cars, his own car, or failing that a taxi, he'd hailed a black cab to speed him to his destination. It was only on his arrival, when he noticed that the windows of the flat he'd identified via Google as belonging to Ruth, were dark with undrawn curtains that he realised that being less affluent and - admit it Harry – less spoilt by the few privileges that attached to his job – Ruth had almost certainly decided to wend her way home via Tube and bus. Cursing himself for this idiocy, and all too aware that even in disinterested London remaining rooted in one spot was the tradecraft of a rookie, he wandered his way towards the small arcade of local convenience shops that his Google meanderings had also informed him had been built nearby to serve the occasional needs of the local residents. That should occupy a few minutes, which, when followed by a brisk walk around the block, would kill the time until Ruth finally made it back to the sanctity of her home, unless – dreadful thought - she'd suffered an unnecessary fit of guilt and double backed to Pete's to apologise for assaulting him. A quick text to Alec would confirm or deny that suspicion, but Harry decided to delay the enquiry until he reached the shopping area. A message sent from that location would most likely be interrupted by any observer as the action of an over anxious husband, checking that he'd bought the correct type of flour in an attempt to avert a matrimonial ear bashing.

While Harry was lurking incognito around the shopping centre, confirming that wherever Ruth's journey had taken her too it wasn't back to Pete's, " _No Harry and he really is a wanker_ " he missed the sight of the woman he was attempting in his own convoluted way to cherish, arriving home. Upset and distraught, as Ruth unlocked the door to her flat she was experiencing a combination of relief and desolation. Relief that she was, for the first time of the day, freed from the demands of other people; desolation when she reviewed the mess she was mired in. On her homeward travels battling with the demands of public transport – did any one using the Tube ever emerge feeling untouched by human hand? – she'd buoyed herself with the lifeline of hope thrown to her by Malcolm, that Harry could be trusted. Now alone within her own four walls reality was biting, and that reality stated that she was on her own, facing a situation she couldn't deal with. Fighting to retain some sense of self worth she resorted to ticking herself off – rational Ruth asking wet mess Ruth what she really had expected – had she seriously anticipated returning home to discover Harry, green eyes glinting with love, squatting on her doorstep like a giant pixie, or alternatively descending from the top of the building, like the God from the car, waving a hand to make all well. The best she could hope for at present was to persuade Malcolm to hack her doctor's surgery and produce a sick note – given how she felt about Giles a vomiting bug might be appropriate –with the aim of delaying the planned seduction cum rape for a few days – it was an outside chance but it might just work. The alternative was to kill Pete or Giles, tempting, but even if she was willing to override the ethical qualms attached to murder and issue a kill order she didn't have the contacts or the authority to order it. Harry Pearce did, but he was out of the picture, currently lying unconscious in some institution. A personal disaster for her since, while rumour stated that he possessed few morals, she doubted very much that he'd be prepared to blackmail a woman into bed with him. Gossip suggested that such was his magnetism he didn't need to. Recognising that none of this was doing her any good at all Ruth, heeding the demands of her stomach, decided that the most fruitful action at present was to investigate the innards of her fridge, which, when she opened it, made Mother Hubbard's cupboard look like a cornucopia of provender. Two eggs and milk – scrambled then - as she really didn't want to wander out to the nearby takeaway. She'd just kicked off her shoes and wearily plonked the eggs in a basin on the work surface when the doorbell rang.

Approaching it carefully – ironically she'd not got round to fitting a spy hole - she wondered who exactly was bothering her at this time of night. She had no friends in London, Malcolm would have texted his arrival and, oh God not Peter or Giles, in her present low ebb she really couldn't cope with either of them. Best to ignore it, plenty of people left a light on when they were out so if she remained still and quiet the persistent person outside would eventually walk away. After several rings silence fell, but just as she was about to exhale with relief, the letter box was sinisterly lifted and a pair of eyes began to scan the floor. Shaking with fright she stuck to the course she'd decided upon, until the longed for and instantly recognisable voice called through it, "Ruth it's Harry – can you open up the door please."

Open the door – she flung it wide and just about managed to avoid throwing herself at him as he stepped over her threshold for the first time. Exercising restraint she tried to sound casual, causing Harry's lips to twitch, she wasn't fooling him for a second, she'd nearly catapulted into his arms and wasn't he pleased to know that.

"Just passing were you?"

"Actually I was looking for a bed and breakfast establishment."

Ruth essayed a reply in kind, "I charge reasonable rates," but somehow the words got lost as relief overtook her and instead she almost choked, "I was wondering if….", halting as she considered that what she'd been about to blurt out could be deemed insulting to her possible saviour. A wasted effort as Harry picked up the theme, "Wondering if I'd used you for one night only and lied to you about…"

Ruth wasn't able to speak and Harry called a halt to his teasing when he noticed that she'd begun to tremble, no time for teasing now. Stepping into the narrow hallway he pulled her towards him, relishing the feeling of her body once more pressed against his as he soothed her, "Ruth I've never been a saint." Words that would have had Alec and Malcolm nodding in agreement, although they might have been startled by the continuation, "but it would help if you could just believe that I do want to be with you."

The main response was a watery, "I know that now, it's just having been lied to before….."

"When I say I want to be with you I'm not lying." That much was true, as was, "And I'm working on shafting that creep you work for."

Ruth pulling away from him led him into what seemed at a first impression to be small cramped sitting room, although when Harry looked more closely he realised that the dimensions were reasonably spacious, it was the addition of two very large and overflowing books cases that ate into the available space. Seeing that Ruth was now more or less back in command of herself and remembering the day she'd just lived through his next question was more mundane, "Have you eaten?" Ruth shook her head as she informed him of what he already knew, "I've just got home and haven't been shopping."

Harry, who'd been in the process of removing his coat, shrugged it back on as he uttered was in effect an order, "I saw a reasonable looking carry out on my way here – you set the table and I'll collect."

Ruth was inclined to argue, "But you're my guest so I should pay."

"I invited myself, and a gentlemen always plays."

With that he left, leaving Ruth hugging herself with pleasure– after the manipulation of Giles and Peter it was a delight to be dealing with someone who really cared and wasn't trying to groom her for his own purposes. Malcolm had been right – she could rely on Harry and it was a wonderful feeling. Practically walking on air she began grabbing plates and cutlery to set the table. Her euphoria only punctured by two thoughts, the first the depressing realisation that compared to the furnishings in his flat her own, while nothing to be ashamed, of were decided cheaper and down market, the second, which was guaranteed to take a gloss off the evening was that she would have to describe the events of the day to him. In particular she was wincing at having to reprise the scene with Peter. How could she explain that pathetic article to Harry who was himself so certain and commanding? Table set she recalled Harry's comment about bed and breakfast, while she was far from adverse to the idea, a quick dash upstairs was indicated to make sure the bedroom was in order, a set of fresh towels was hung out and she really had to fix her face.

By the time Harry returned some twenty minutes later everything was prepared, including Ruth with freshly brushed hair, refreshed lipstick and a change of blouse. Harry noting this with some amusement as she let him in for the second time merely asked her, "Alright if I take this straight into the kitchen – I hope Chinese is acceptable." Privately thinking that whatever turn the conversation took he'd be careful not to let this second meal of the evening congeal. A thought that made him suggest, "Ruth I know you need to update me but can I suggest we eat first and then collapse on that comfortable sofa with some wine."

Ruth smiled, sending his heart flipping, as she agreed, "Suits me but what are we going to talk about over the meal?"

"How about discussing what we both like for food, and travel and entertainment and…"

So with the food spooned out and wine poured that was exactly what they did, Harry discovering to his surprise, and mild horror,given his prickly relationship with the CIA, that Ruth was eager to visit America, while Ruth was in her turn rather surprised that Harry was keen to visit the various capitals of Europe, at his age surely he'd seen them. Exclaiming that Harry grimaced, "Of course I've visited them,but usually for work. The last time I was in Paris all I saw was the Eiffel Tower in the distance and the taxi driver when driving past an underpass just pointed and muttered 'Princess Diana', not my idea of a tourist attraction."

Smiling at Ruth, who would have gone weak at the knees at the those green eyes had she not been sitting down, he finished with, "We either agree to disagree or…"

"Or!"

"We do both."

Instantly the shadow returned to Ruth's face as she considered the issues confronting her immediate future. Harry recognising that the moment had come to talk about the pickle she was in stood up as he informed her, "Sofa now Ruth – I'll clear up later."

Sat on the sofa with a glass of wine apiece Harry put his arm around her and said, "Just tell me straight Ruth and get it over with."

Thinking that that was easier said than done Ruth obeyed his instruction. In some tucked away functioning part of her brain she really was wondering what Harry was doing in a job where he spent his time wandering around performing vague tasks for Malcolm and the absent Harry Pearce, when he seemed born for command. Something she might begin to investigate for herself she thought, as she began with the straightforward information.

"Firstly I've been given the date and time by Giles – Saturday evening – and he's ordered something for me to wear, but I don't know what."

Harry's brow wrinkled as if this was news to him, "Didn't you ask?"

"I just wanted to get out of his office - oh and Malcolm realised something was wrong so I finally told him. He's offered to help."

"Good, I'll contact him." Seeing that she'd halted Harry asked gently, "Anything further?"

Ruth hesitated, but knowing that Malcolm knew she'd been to see Peter and not sure if he'd mention that to Harry she opted to tell a half truth, "I went to see Peter and told him what was up."

"And."

"He's in a bit of a state and although he told me - not to - well…."

Harry noted the lie but symphasising with her motives informed her, "Very well, now I know more I have an idea, but need to check some details with Malcolm." He could lie readily as well, and didn't want Ruth to know what was planned until she was in no position to ask awkward questions.

Looking at her he noticed that the wine glass was slipping in her hands as her eyes closed momentarily. Before it could smash making a mess of her carpet he removed it gently.

"Go to bed Ruth, as I said I'll clear up."

"But."

"I'll join you later. I think I can negotiate the way to your bathroom."

Seeing her about to expostulate he said very firmly, "No arguments you have to get up for work tomorrow and face Giles."

Ruth thought she should protest, but she was dog tired and therefore obediently disappeared. Harry having cleared away the debris from their meal and tidied the kitchen, a process that took about twenty minutes, crept quietly up the stairs, a useful skill learnt over the years, although past practise meant that he was more accustomed to creeping out of a bedroom than in. When he opened the door and glanced towards the bed he realised that Ruth was fast asleep. Locating the bathroom as promised and noting her forethought with towels he quickly sluiced himself in warm water and stripped down to his briefs. At that point he paused, sleep in his underwear, or let it all hang out and go commando? Difficult decision but having noted that Ruth was wearing some form of sleepwear he decided to emulate her and slipped in beside her. As he did so she stirred slightly leading him to lean over and kiss her, "Just sleep Ruth". Settling down next to her he realised that Ruth had introduced him to another unique experience. This would be the first time he'd ever slept with a woman, and done just that alone. Running his hand down her arm he interlocked his fingers with hers, closed his eyes and, tired himself, within a few minutes was also peacefully asleep.

As was his habit, a result of his years in the military and the professional requirements of spying that frequently dictated a rendezvous before the birds stirred, Harry was wide awake early in the morning. Having no desire, or need, to sneak away he was content to prop himself up on one elbow and gaze upon the still sleeping Ruth. With her cheeks slightly flushed, dark hair framing her face, and worry lines banished for the moment, she looked so young, not something he could boast of. With a pang he began to compute the age difference, in the long run would it begin to tell? It was a thought he preferred to banish, let the distant future take care of itself, in the present he was able to drink her in, although with the stirring he felt down below he hoped she wouldn't be too long in beginning to wake up. As if by telepathy, Ruth's eyelids began to flicker tempting him to run a finger down her cheek as he whispered in her ear, "Good morning Ruth". Half awake she turned over and automatically reached out for him emitting a small moan at the feather like caress of her arm that slowly began to edge its way towards one of the breasts pushing against his chest. Becoming increasingly aroused Harry, while continuing his gentle stimulation as his tongue flicked across her lips, was trying to decide which position to use when the ultimate moment approached. A waste of time as it happened because just as he was about to grasp Ruth's night dress, operation strip off was interrupted by the ringing of her doorbell. A sound that simultaneously woke Ruth up completely, while crashing his hopes as she sat bolt upright informing him, "Damn that'll be the courier."

Once she'd uttered those words Harry of course remembered Giles' instruction to her, and also that as she'd omitted to mention this detail to him last night he was supposed to be in complete ignorance, as he played along with the pretence. "What courier?"

Ruth, already half out of bed and pulling on her dressing gown, shouted over her shoulder as her feet hit the ground and she headed for the bedroom door, "Giles – it'll be the outfit he ordered for me."

Once she'd vanished Harry pulling down the duvet and checking his semi aroused state was chalking yet another grievance up to Giles. It was forty eight hours since he'd last had sex with Ruth and now he was being deprived by the depraved. The operational necessity of pleasuring Jane didn't count in his book, although with the plan he had in mind he'd need some verbal fancy foot work to avoid Ruth placing the wrong construction upon that relationship, although as a spy she would, he was sure, understand. Still his preferred option was to avoid enlightening her if at all possible.

These not entirely comforting speculations were driven from his mind by the reappearance of Ruth wearing an unhappy expression bearing with her a cardboard box plastered with white labels. Harry, having some idea of what it might contain, waited for her to say something as she dumped the box on a small chest below the window. That done she then ripped open an envelope, scanned its contents and said in an upset voice, "An instruction from Giles to try on the contents to make sure of the fit."

"Well go on then, let's see this dress."

Ripping the parcel tape aside Ruth pulled open the box lid, delved in beneath, from what Harry's line of vision appeared to be a layer of tissue paper, and swapped discomfort for embarrassment as she pulled out the contents, "It's not a dress." Turning over the scanty material she exclaimed in horror. "It's underwear!"

Harry, spying from afar, commented sardonically, "Black lace, how very conventional," and then with a degree of curiosity, "So are you going to obey his instructions?"

Ruth in a small voice, blushing furiously, muttered, "I suppose so." Harry taking pity on her confusion clambered off the bed informing her, "I'll take a shower while you do so," before departing for the bathroom.

About ten minutes later having showered, his now flaccid lower regions concealed by a bath towel tucked loosely around his regrettably thickening waist line, he emerged to the interesting sight of Ruth clad in a black lace bra whose the under wiring had forced her breasts into an unnatural conical configuration, while leaving a cut out at the peaks that exposed her nipples. Lower down her hips were lightly covered by a pair of skimpy knickers along with the ubiquitous suspenders and black stockings. It wouldn't have been Harry's choice of garb for her, but he had to admit that the sight was negating the effects of the cold shower.

From Ruth's hesitating expression he guessed that she was waiting for him to comment, and wasn't sure that it would be admiring. Moving towards her with what he trusted wasn't a lascivious smile, he asked almost noncommittedly in professional terms she might appreciate.

"Would you like an opinion?"

Ruth was feeling shamed as she stood before the man she loved in the costume of – no other description came to her mind– a whore - replied with down cast eyes, "I don't know – God this is so embarrassing."

It gave Harry a cue which might, with luck, lead onto the delights of delayed gratification. "What more embarrassing than what we were doing to each other two nights ago?"

Ruth, remembering that early morning exercise was nonplussed, her lack of response enabling to Harry take advantage of her silence as he moved to stand directly in front of her.

"The black lace against your very white skin is attractive – it pains me to admit it that it's a good choice, but as for the rest…" Raking her up and down with his eyes he delivered the next part of his verdict.

"Now – hmm not sure about the bra." He paused for a moment, "I can see the point of having these exposed." A statement accompanied by his fingers running over her naked nipples which drew forth a gratifying groan as he continued in faux clinical voice, "But I don't like this wiring – it distorts these into a very unnatural shape." As he uttered those words he reached behind her to unclip the bra, which he removed and threw onto the floor before she could protest. Cupping both breasts in his hand he murmured, "That looks so much better and …" no further words were required as his gentle stimulation caused her to automatically arch her body towards his.

Registering this Harry moved his hands down to her hips and eased her onto the bed where she sat upright while he began to busy himself with the suspenders. Stockings released he rolled them down her legs enjoying the responsive quiver he felt as he finally stripped her limbs, "We don't want to ladder them", before returning his hands upwards, stroking the inside of her thighs, "and am I correct that these panties are minus a crotch?" Given where his fingers where exploring Ruth found herself unable to answer coherently, which didn't much matter as Harry had intended the question to be rhetorical, "I thought so - not much practical use but they do save some effort in these circumstances." Although Ruth could guess as the circumstances he was referring to she didn't get an opportunity to reply, which was as well as her assumption would only have been half right, given that Harry replaced his fingers by his tongue, with a result that made her throw herself back onto the mattress, screaming aloud with pleasure.

Feeing the waves recede she might have tried to rise but was aware of Harry easing off the obscene remnants of Giles' choice leaving her completely naked,"Now we are both nicely primed so….." a statement that was superfluous given that his dropping of the towel made his expectations self evident.

"Oh God."

"No just me, but let's try for a few shooting stars."

Recalling the advice of Peter Ruth without hesitation voluntarily spread her legs wide to welcome him, and for the next few minutes any neighbours forced to an inescapable thin walled listening in might have been excused from thinking that they'd tuned into a porn film.

Sated and satisfied they were both cooling down on the covers, while still fingering one another to the point where Harry was considering suggesting a shower together in hopes of an encore, when Ruth's mobile rang. Looking at the caller display she sighed – she'd almost forgotten the reason for her staying late at home - as she answered, "Hello Sir".

"Ah Ruth I trust the package arrived."

Ruth, earlier so forthcoming with Harry in every sense of the phrase, became monosyllabic, "Yes."

"Did they fit?"

"Yes"

"Good –so in that case you need to get back the Grid asap."

"Very well – Sir."

The snap in her voice made that final word sound like an insult.

Harry now pulling on his clothes and combing the beard he'd developed over the last few weeks raised a quizzical eyebrow, "Back to work?"

"Yes. I only wish…."

Harry didn't allow her to develop the theme, "Ruth I'm working on a plan so I need to ask are you a good actress?"

Not a question she'd anticipated. "I'm not sure – I did once play Lady Macbeth at school - why?"

"Because I need you to try to enter into the spirit of whatever Giles is planning. You need to make a couple of conditions."

"Not sure he'll agree."

"He will, if tell him you think the pleasure of the encounter will be enhanced if you add to the role play." Ruth was looking uncertain so he hurried on, "It's vital that you persuade him to let you wear an eye mask and after your arrival he allows you to remain silent – tell him it will match the kinky underwear, or whatever other reason occurs to you."

Ruth was looking at him dubiously, "So what are you planning?"

"I can't tell you as I need to check a couple of technical points with Malcom so please Ruth trust me."

Ruth might have wanted to interrogate him further – once again her doubts about how much she really knew of Harry were surfacing, but she didn't have time. Harry having deliberately picked his moment for that reason advised her,

"If he thinks you're obedient he'll be more likely to agree." Keen to avoid further discussion he reverted to command mode. "Now you shower and head to the Grid. I'll get dressed and…"

"Vanish again." The pain in her voice was palpable.

"Only too try and help you Ruth."

Ruth left with no alternative nodded and ignoring the despised present from Giles picked up Harry's discarded towel as she exited showerwards. Had she stayed she'd have been even more bemused since as soon as she was safely out of sight, Harry hearing the sound of water being run, pulled out his phone and proceeded to take some happy snaps of the underwear with particular reference to make and size. Task completed he knocked on the bathroom door,

"Ruth I'll contact you tonight."

Muffled by the shower he thought he heard a "Thanks" whose tone that was not entirely free of irony, leading him to suspect that Ruth was reverting back to doubts about his veracity. Only a few more days he trusted before the whole tangle could be resolved and he could make plans for their Grand Tour of Europe and try to arrange a visit to his old buddy Jim Coaver, now deskbound in Langley. Dolby was always urging more cordial relations with their so called allies so a working trip with his top analyst might be in order.

Once outside, and wishing to remain inconspicuous as befitted his cover Harry was just about to head to the nearest Tube station when a text pinged through from Malcolm. "Gavrik has agreed – expect contact at the flat."

Balm to the eyes, precipitating a broad evil grin across Harry's face – Giles was about to be get his in more ways than one.

Bring it on.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment to review please do so.** _


	28. Chapter 28: Deceivers All

_**Finally this chapter is finished. I can only thank my readers for their patience. Thanks again to those who are sticking with it and especially those have reviewed either the last chapter or previous efforts. Much appreciated.**_

* * *

 **O, what may man within him hide,**

 **Though angel on the outward side!**

 **How may likeness, made in crimes,**

 **Make practice on the times,**

 **To draw with idle spiders' strings**

 **Most ponderous and substantial things**

Act 3 Sc 2 253 - 257)

* * *

The greeting uttered by Malcolm, consisting of the ominous words, "Giles wants to see you immediately" did nothing to calm Ruth's nerves. On her journey into work, while the bus trundled its prescribed way through the tower block and brick jungle that was London, she'd occupied her time by pondering, not just the strange request that Harry had insisted she present to Giles but also, inevitably, the fact that he was asking her to deceive her boss. While Ruth, the usually honest, didn't baulk at that suggestion, given that Giles was prepared to shaft her and Pete with a lie, it set her wondering yet again about Harry himself. He presented as so sincere when he was with her, but if he could, fresh from making passionate love to her, then exhort her towards an act of deception, as if it was a normal and acceptable procedure, what exactly did that imply about him? It didn't require a genius level IQ to work out that if he was contracted by Harry Pearce, with Malcolm acting as a conduit, then the obvious inference was he must be some sort of spy, and since on his own admission he was a private contractor, was that not a euphemism for something murky? Trying yet again to tease out what she knew of him from the very few clues she'd garnered the only real facts she'd ascertained were firstly that he possessed an expensively furnished flat, ever assuming that he was the actual owner, secondly that he liked Shakespeare and the opera, thirdly that he patronised several very good eateries and finally that he was very adept in the sexual arts. Of his family, his professional background, in grim fact anything at all pertaining to his historic past and current present she had discovered nothing. The only resolution she'd made as she approached the pods was that she'd have to start delving deeply into various databases, absolutely no one these days remained unrecorded or tagged in some shape or form. She couldn't match Harry in the bedroom arts but she was willing to bet that she could outpoint him in hacking or, as she preferred to think of it, covert information gathering. Now immediately confronted with Giles' latest demand she knew that her plans to uncover Harry's secrets would have to be put on temporary hold, spiked in favour of her pretence to be something she wasn't, in pursuit of Harry's request. She'd decided on her strategy and a set of faked reasons but could she pull it off? Now was the crunch time. She'd left the security of GCHQ because of her private longing to become a real spy, and only the real spy that she had so badly wanted to become would succeed with this risky plan.

Dumping her bag and coat by her desk, resisting the temptation to delay, as she approached Giles' door prepared to fight her fate she could only pray that she possessed the requisite talents to make the grade. Her stomach, that had hitherto to been performing back flips, was now tying itself into reef knots as she entered. Giles gave no sign that he had noticed her standing in front of him. A technique he customarily adopted to ensure that the minions knew their place, a ploy which was currently backfiring on him. Had he been less self absorbed he might have realised that the pause, far from throwing his current victim off course, was actually providing Ruth, ostensibly occupied by the passive examination of her shoes, with the time she required to channel her inner Lady Macbeth, although it was her own courage she was screwing to the sticking place. When Giles finally deigned to acknowledge her presence he looked up at her with the now familiar supercilious smirk that made all of Section D, excluding Jed of course, long for chance to rearrange his classic features into something resembling one of Picasso's madder portraits.

"Ah Ruth, I trust that the clothing was to your liking."

Ruth infusing her voice with a not entirely spurious gratitude, after all the ensemble had stimulated Harry into producing a very satisfactory conclusion, managed to sound a little uncertain at the same time,

"Yes but it did …."

She'd piqued his curiosity, as was her intention, as his eyebrows drew together with a puzzled frown,

"Did what?"

Said humbly and almost whispered, "Well it reminded me of something I'd once read."

Snared Giles almost snapped, this was not the reply he'd anticipated, "So?"

As if this was being teased out of her reluctantly Ruth continued in a small voice, "Well this article suggested that to enhance sexual pleasure some neural pathways should either be blocked, or their function reduced."

GiIes was floundering now, as was Malcolm listening in with an increasingly wrinkled forehead, as Ruth managed a fake stammer, "….It doesn't matter…..er…., it was probably rubbish anyway."

Giles to mask his confusion reverted into full boss mode, "Please do not waste my time – tell me exactly what you are talking about."

Ruth, while inwardly surprised that she'd managed to play him so easily, launched into an explanation. "The theory is that if you reduce the exposure of some neural pathways relating to the senses while having sex….," pausing as a quite genuine blush reached her cheeks when she recalled the events of a couple of hours ago, "it enhances the pleasure elsewhere as with some distractions removed the brain can concentrate more fully on the response."

Giles needed sagely, "I think I understand so far, continue."

Encouraged Ruth stumbled on. "For example if the pair having intercourse both remain silent the brain is not distracted by speech. If both parties wear eye masks sight is not a distraction and might in time translate into greater feeling and…"

Malcolm, wondering in the first instance if Giles was stupid enough to fall for this tosh, was equally amazed at Ruth's ability to manipulate him, while recognising Harry's fingerprints on the discussion. He supposed for Ruth, if her persuasion worked, it might have the additional bonus of not having to view Giles in the buff or – an equally revolting thought - his posing pouch.

Breathlessly Malcolm was waiting the response, as was Ruth who, to avoid looking at Giles was adopting the technique that had served her well on previous sessions in the office, that of admiring the sculpture decorating the shelves behind his handsome head. Once again she was wondering about the missing Harry and as she looked at the sculptures an elusive memory chord was struck. She wasn't given time to chase it to its source when Giles, having remained silent for minute, said, "Hmm I'm pleased you are entering into the spirit of this Ruth and I can supply the eye masks – I can't guarantee to remain silent though, not when I'm fucking a figure like yours, so yes." Steepling his hands for second he informed her,

"My decision is you will come to the room in just your coat with the underwear beneath, no dress so you can't run away. Also I will insist you leave the coat just inside the door. Once I've locked I will supply the masks and then …. We play."

When Ruth failed to respond to this promise he dismissed her with, "Now run along and do some work."

That was an order Ruth had no difficulty in obeying as she exited, amazed that she'd manage to pull it off. With a deep sense of relief she sat down at her desk and drawing a bulky file towards herself she started in on the first task of the day, updating the risk assessment, while simultaneously wondering how she'd rate her own personal one. If nothing else that consideration pointed up the imponderables with the process: risk high without Harry's intervention and moderate to high with it. Absorbed in her task she failed to notice that Malcom looking very grave as he stripped off his headphones, only looking up at him with surprise when she overheard him telephoning Giles,

"Sorry Sir but an urgent query has arisen re the working party and the DG has requested my immediate attendance."

Unable to hear Giles Ruth could just about fill in the blanks from Malcolm's reply, "I appreciate that Sir, but it was totally unexpected and concerns a threat to national security."

Conversation ended Malcolm began to pack his briefcase with a few oddments that included a memory stick and his laptop. Seeing Ruth staring at the contents he explained, "I'll be out for most of the day Ruth." Before making good his escape.

* * *

Back at the residence belonging to Gavrik, Harry, in his Serge persona, was becoming impatient, as he awaited the elusive contact. His own secret flat might have an impersonal ambience but at least it was a comfortable one. This flat was equally impersonal, and that it was functional was the best that could be claimed for it. The mattress needed changing, the oven and fridge were fairly ancient and the lack of double glazing made it extra cold and loud. Harry also didn't appreciate the taste in music of those on the other side of the thin walls, rap with its obscenities he could do without, the only garage music he wanted to hear was his car engine running smoothly, while country and western, along with its fan base, should be deported back to Nashville forthwith. For the past few weeks his sojourn within these walls had been reminding him of Cold War Berlin, minus the excitement. He hadn't, up until now, believed it possible to die from boredom but was just beginning to think otherwise when the doorbell rang. Approaching with care, having scooped the precautionary handgun out of the kitchen drawer just in case Gavrik had sent a goon to check out Serge, he peeped through the spy hole, and instantly wondered whether to groan or rejoice as he saw Alec waiting to cross the threshold.

Once allowed in he greeted Harry with, "Thought you might like company."

Harry wasn't precisely gracious in his reply, "So who is keeping an eye on Pete?"

"Gone out and I've left the camera running, but needed a break."

Harry inclined his head in acceptance of this excuse, although before he could reply his mobile buzzed. Reading the message he informed Alec

"We're about to be joined by Malcolm eta now," before querying, "I'm surprised you didn't see him on your way in."

Alec wasn't exactly thrilled at this aspersion on his skills as he reminded Harry, "People don't notice Malcom – it's one of his great assets."

Harry had to admit the truth of that statement although Malcolm, while not presenting with a flash exterior, was easily the most indispensable member of his team – except possibly Ruth. Not about to utter any comment that could be considered disparaging he remained silent. Not an issue given that the doorbell went yet again. Repeating the checking procedure of a few minutes earlier once he entered it was clear that Alec would have been hard put to recognise Malcolm, dressed as a plumber, carrying what presented as tool bag but in reality held all his geek gear.

Alec taking this in asked, "Changing profession Malcolm, or are you bugging the drains?"

Malcolm, relieved to have reached the sanctuary of the flat Harry was beginning to despise, simply replied, "No and I have been known to do that, it's quite amazing what people will discuss, especially in the ladies."

"Even so what's with the costume Malcolm?" From Harry trying to reassert some authority.

"Giles!"

Noting that one word was not adequate explaination to someone who hadn't been suffering daily on the Grid he expanded, "Giles sounded suspicious when I asked to leave unexpectedly. I went to Dolby to update him about the operation and explained that I had to see you urgently, and then borrowed a costume to sneak out. Dolby has agreed to cover for me." Removing the cap and sinking into the threadbare chair he explained, "Not the real reason though for leaving the Grid."

Without any further banter they all sat silently leading Harry to offer, "The floor is yours Malcolm."

Sitting upright with the merest hint of a grimace Malcolm, having unpacked his laptop and fiddled with a few coded commands, took up the invitation, "Very well. Firstly Ruth has managed to persuade Giles to meet the requests you made." Without further ado Malcolm pressed the sound file and for five minutes they all listened rapt to the conversation.

Harry as he assessed the drama playing out felt justified in his choice of Ruth, a great analyst with all the makings of being reasonable in the field if required, her manipulation of Giles was pure genius. Alec was less silent,

"Gosh she's good – she almost convinced me to try that out."

Malcom for once uttered a rejoinder, "Let me know Connie's reaction," only to be trumped by Alec's "And you can let me know Sarah's."

Harry however was now moving on mentally, something more must have forced Malcolm to risk an unscheduled absence from the Grid, "Malcolm you could have told us this later so why the rush?"

"Ah well. Given what you are planning I thought you should know that no sooner was Ruth out of Giles' office than he was on the phone arranging to have Pete's flat planted with class A drugs." As Alec made to rise Malcolm waved a hand to indicate that he should remain seated, "It's okay Alec this is to take place while Giles is er…"

"Occupied with Ruth."

Nodding Malcolm continued with his revelations. "Quite, but he's also arranging to have some top secret documents placed in Ruth's flat."

"Not the BBC file!"

Malcolm shook his head, "He won't risk a leak when he's sold Gavrik exclusive access. No this relates to a Far Right English for the English group – from a computer hack I think the plan is to suggest she's been selling information to support Pete's drug habit."

Harry wasn't, despite his earlier background as a member of the that well known bastion of refinement, Her Majesty's military, inclined to obscenity, but now let rip with expletives that seemed to have originated in the docksides of London before apologising to his colleagues, "Sorry but…"

Malcolm usually so prim unbent to soothe him, "You said it, but it would be fair to say Alec and I probably both thought it."

"So what do we do?" Alec's recalling them to this vital point plunged Harry in to deep thought before asking, "Do we have a timetable for this?"

Malcolm as thorough as ever could give a positive reply, "Peter's flat to be planted whenever he ventures out after Saturday teatime and Ruth's flat Monday morning after she leaves for work."

Alec relaxed a tad as he said, "Pete's flat is easy to police, we already have our camera covering the door and most of the room."

"But only in one room", protested Malcolm.

Alec had a solution to offer. "So we plant a couple of others and the main entrance. He usually disappears out to buy more beer in the early evening and his security it terrible so we can get access then, it won't take long."

Harry while saying, "Doable for him but Ruth…"

Malcolm hesitatingly suggested, "The same – I get a copy of her key when I return to the Grid and Alec can set up the camera while Ruth is er…."

"Not shagging Giles." Turning to Harry Alec had a query, "That's not a problem but supposing Giles isn't happy and goes for it on Sunday."

Harry was ready with an answer, "Since my plan has a logical flaw Ruth isn't returning to her flat after Saturday night."

"Have you told her that?" Alec asked, not waiting for a response before enquiring, "And what is this plan anyway?"

When Harry described the rough outline Alec wasn't sure whether to whoop out loud or copy Malcolm's initial jaw dropping reaction. "Seriously?" followed by admiring, "How do you get women to agree to this sort scheme?"

"Natural charm."

"Okay Mr Modest I can only guess how."

Before Alec could utter any further ribald comments Harry's Serge phone emitted a slight noise leading its substitute owner to exclaim, "Message from Gavrik." As he dived eagerly towards the laptop.

Handing over to Malcom he suggested, "You'll decode it more quickly than me."

Malcolm scanning for a few minutes sat back with a palpable sense of relief, "They want to make the exchange on Tuesday." A rare smile spread across his face, "So Harry can you manage to make it back to the Grid for Wednesday am?"

With answering smile that mirrored Malcolm's relief Harry replied in the affirmative "Yes I think so, or more possibly mid morning."

And then Malcolm did something neither Harry or Alec had ever seen him do before, something so unMalcolmlike it took them completely by surprise.

He punched the air with joy.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading and as I said reviews are appreciated**_.


	29. Chapter 29:Hospitality Hotel

**_By now everyone reading this must be fed up with my endless apologies for delays in posting so please take that as read. As ever thanks to those who are reading and even more thanks to those who review._**

* * *

 **The matter being afoot, Keep your instruction**

 **And hold you ever to our special drift,**

 **Though sometimes you do blench from this to that**

 **As cause doth minister Act 4 Scene 5 2-6**

While Giles had presumably hired the hotel room in the expectation of enjoying an unquestioned luxurious privacy to cloak his fell intent Malcolm, arriving shortly after the 10.00am check out time, was working assiduously to ensure that Giles would be fully justified in requesting a refund, plus damages, should he summon up the nerve to do so.

Malcolm in theory had no business being in the next door room, which had been booked by Harry in the name of some corporate pseudonym, and even less excuse for entering the allegedly private space commandeered by Giles. Emerging cautiously from the room in which he had set up his computer and other equipment, which was positioned just along the corridor from the other two separate rooms that Harry had claimed the keys for, for Malcolm who prided on outwitting the most talented of locksmiths it had been the work of a moment to slip into the bedroom of interest for the joint purposes of planting the required hardware while confirming the accuracy of the layout previously studied on the paper spec. Working undercover he'd taken the precaution of swapping his plumber costume of the other day for that a room attendant complete with trolley in case of intruders. Twiddling away with his busy fingers as he inserted a remote controlled circuit breaker in the main light switch, plus the two side lights by the bedhead – tricky since he wanted to avert his eyes in order to avoid visualising Giles humping Ruth – and a further cut out in the emergency lighting, Malcolm was considering his own personal circumstances relationship wise. He was really hoping that the entire black operation would be wound up by next weekend. The strain of maintaining his own cover with Giles while keeping track of all the various criss crossing deceptions he found himself entangled in was becoming increasingly stressful. In his youth he might have prayed for their conclusion, now however he was a few decades beyond belief and, despite appearances, was rather more worldly wise that most assumed. Indeed in odd moments he rather wondered why anyone ever thought otherwise. Perhaps because, Sarah apart and private, his mode of relaxation was to become absorbed in a good book, not follow the more common pathway of gulping down tumblers of whisky or indulging in casual seductions. Having a fairly good notion as to the dubious methods Harry had utilised when charming confidences out of Jane and Ruth, Malcolm was desperately hoping not to be within earshot of the inevitable ructions when Ruth discovered the true identity of the man she'd been conned into having a relationship with. Unlike Harry Malcolm had been working with her in a purely professional capacity, as a consequence of which had rapidly discovered that beneath the surface diffidence she possessed a highly developed moral compass. Her expression of total disgust when analysing data obtained via a recent honey trap lingered in his memory, so how she exactly would react when Harry revealed more than just his body to her was anyone's guess. Personally Malcolm was plumping for not well, even without Jane thrown into the overall mix – and if Ruth found out about her…..Friend he might be but even so Malcolm was of the firm view, given the context, that Ruth was Harry's problem. Sarah, or more accurately, the running of Sarah's evident desire for a close relationship in tandem with his mother's equally jealous needs, was his. Considering, Malcolm decided that he'd take Sarah up on her suggestion that he join her next weekend in distant Yorkshire. The neighbour would be happy to check on his mother and he'd be glad to escape the inevitable fall out when ' _Operation Giles'_ was finally concluded. Ruth wasn't the only one who might be offended by the deception, Zoe and Danny, who'd been making sterling efforts to keep the Grid running Harry style which involved undermining Giles at every possible opportunity, would also be miffed, to put it mildly, that they hadn't been conserved worthy of their Section Head's trust.

Further consideration was stymied when the door opened to reveal Harry in person. Arriving, Malcolm had little doubt, to request a progress report, which would almost certainly be followed by a further series of demands. Noting the question in his eyes – the green was even more piercing than the more natural amber – Malcolm hastily informed him,

"All done. Just running some tests."

Harry nodded, "Very well so if I go in and draw the curtains can you do a run with me in the room?" Explaining in response to the stare Malcom shot him, "I need to know how much Giles would be able to see."

Watching from his computer screen Malcolm waited while Harry entered the room, switching on the lights before marching to the windows and firmly drawing the heavy brocade curtains lined with blackout material, carefully adjusting the overlap to block out the late spring sun streaming through the long paned windows. Surprisingly, instead of giving Malcom the signal that would ensure total darkness would descend the instant the artificial electric light was killed, Harry then prowled around the room. His cocked head implying to Malcolm that he was assessing the level of any sound emanating from footsteps made over the pale cream carpet , thick but velveteen in appearance, prior to placing himself at the foot of the king size bed. Malcolm wondered exactly what Harry was checking as he fixed his steady stare on this essential item of bedroom furniture, a modern designer take on the Victorian, displaying a railing style bedhead and foot, between which was sandwiched a very comfortable mattress, duvet and fluffy pillows, as well as the inevitable superfluous matching cushions placed across the bedcovers. Knowing that questions would not be answered until it suited Harry Malcolm waited patiently, then on Harry's nod plunged the room into night, counted for thirty seconds before flicking the switch that produced a very dimmed green from the safety light set into the ceiling. Assuming the room had the same effect on the vision of the occupant as it had on himself as a distant observer, all that could made out were the vaguest of body and furniture outlines. Leaving the room in its gloom for a further minute Malcolm ended this first run, of what he suspected would be many, by snapping the main lights back on. Harry re appeared beside Malcolm a few minutes later still blinking from the sudden illumination as he commented, "Just about right Malcolm but…"

Accepting that his earlier anticipation that he was a lackey presiding over a work in progress that was unlikely to move swiftly to its conclusion Malcolm wearily awaited the arrival of the next round of instructions,

"I'll need the corridor lights either off or just with the safety – preferably both - so if you can adjust according to the odd variable."

A suggestion that finally lead the long suffering technical officer to protest, "I thought Giles was going to be masked."

A statement that was negated by the reply, "It's a precaution as the timing needs to be split second, so just in case he can see anything at all."

Was Harry ever stumped for an answer Malcom wondered, as he heaved a sigh before reaching for his tools.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was tedious, consisting chiefly of Harry asking Malcolm to juggle various switches while he tested out an endless series of possible scenarios and timings, many of which seemed to revolve around counting steps of different lengths between the door and bed, accompanied by a curiously feverish examination of the bedhead railings and foot. When Harry finally departed to oversee the next stage of his scheme, having first ordered a meal to be delivered to Malcolm, the latter was pondering the possibility of demanding that the last few trying weeks to be taken into consideration at his next pay review.

Harry in fact had retreated only to the next room down the corridor and was checking that everything was in order, including the contents of an expressed parcel delivered to yet another of his alias' earlier in the day. If Giles was moved to check on the morrow, Horatio Prince had never set foot in the place, which was more than could be said for Mr Giles Farmer of ' _Aegean Effluent Removal Services Inc_.' Having a few precious minutes Harry was able to take stock and privately admit to himself what he would never admit to Malcolm, that this endeavour was risky and probably not the greatest idea he'd have had. A view encouraged by the consideration as to what would transpire if he had misguessed Giles intentions for the night.

Relief – if you could call it that - came when Malcolm texted him to say that Giles had appeared, entered the bedroom and was doing something that could throw all Harry's plans out of kilter. A fleeting check of his watch suggested to Harry that Giles was merely indulging in the practice he himself had undertaken an hour so earlier, ie setting the scene for his evil intentions. Nonetheless when Malcolm sent a further message to say that Giles had now vanished Harry, after listening to the footsteps passing his own door and the sound of the nearby lift descending, was out of his room like a greyhound in the slips, whipping into Malcolm's den uttering a questioning "Well?", as he clicked the door firmly shut behind himself.

Malcolm turning back from the computer advised his colleague, "If you would like to look you can see what Giles had done to the bed. It doesn't bode well for your plans." Eschewing a pixel based view Harry, complete with picklock, was hurriedly breaking back into the arena of future seduction. After a quick examination he returned, informing Malcolm in a voice of mischief that disguised his personal misgivings, "It's what I'd guessed and planned for."

Malcolm's appalled face forced him into sharing a little hitherto redacted background Intel, "From what Jane told me I suspected that he'd be planning on chaining Ruth to the bedhead – only of course anyone can be chained so…"

Malcolm having only been aware of the brief outline now understood the plan more fully, but that didn't prevent him being aghast as he sought confirmation of Harry's further plot before saying, "No wonder you've decided not to allow Ruth to return to the Grid – so that was the logical flaw."

"Yes, but luckily Giles played into my hands – I now have a really solid reason to give her."

Ignoring the borderline smug tone of this statement Malcolm ventured the question that had been bugging him, in a strictly non electronic process, for the past few days, "Excuse me but what exactly does Ruth know about this plan?"

"Only that she must persuade Giles to be masked, although in fact if we have a total black out it won't matter for a few minutes while that is attended to."

Malcolm was seriously wondering if Harry had lost it as he checked with a palpable air of disbelief.

"So Ruth enters, gets Giles to mask up, then we cut out the light and swap Ruth for Jane!"

Harry's customary impatience began to flare, "I told you that part –" only to be interrupted by Malcolm who thought he'd discerned a second logical flaw to the plan.

"Yes, but how does Jane get out without Giles knowing?"

Harry was about to answer that one, but was spared when his mobile announced its presence with a loud buzz,

"Sorry Malcolm, but Jane has arrived so I need to meet her and explain the final details."

"And suppose she doesn't agree –"

Harry hurried to reassure himself, as much as Malcolm, that this was a not an option. "Trust me she will, "hell hath no fury etc."

Not inclined to affirm his belief in this theory an exasperated Malcolm had a further query, "And Ruth?"

"I'm meeting her in half an hour to give her the final instructions – out of the hotel obviously." In an oblique recognition of Malcolm's underlying anxiety he essayed a belated attempt at reassurance, "Don't worry Malcolm it'll be fine."

Before Malcolm could disabuse his boss that the only thing this madcap scheme seemed to be well set for was a total disaster, the sneaky individual, having tossed a smile that the Cheshire Cat would be proud of, also emulated the eponymous character by vanishing. Left fielding his own doubts and the technical gadgetry the now solitary Malcolm began to process the hideous ramifications dancing through his brain before swapping those thoughts in favour of a philosophical pondering upon the black operation version of ' _Thought for the Day'_ , namely who stood in the greater need of a strait jacket, himself or Harry.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated_**


	30. Chapter 30: Harry's Plot

**At least this chapter is finished - delay due to various factors including a final decision to split it and the next chapter. Thank you all for your patience and continuing to read this story as it inches towards the end game.**

* * *

 **So disguise shall, by th' disguised**

 **Pay with falsehood false exacting**

 **And perform an old contracting**

 **Act 3 Sc 1 536- 538**

* * *

If the side of the hotel had been exposed in the style of a doll's house the view of four adjoining bedrooms on the tenth floor would have resembled a stage set. One that had the added complication of being arranged by Harry, despite the unwitting, and currently absent, Giles continuing to bask in the fantasy that he was the person calling the shots. To a dispassionate viewer, ignorant of these nuances, the design would have revealed as thus: Room One currently unoccupied, but containing the bed prepped by Giles in anticipation of the allegedly consensual shagging of Ruth, Malcolm's hidden additions to thwart this dishonourable objective not being subject to casual disclosure. Given that Room One was designated for the major action operational necessity had dictated a shared party wall with Room Two, whose current salient feature was the figure of Malcolm hunched over his computer obsessively monitoring various split screens while Harry, nearly as still as a statue, stood sentinel by the door listening intently for the footsteps that would indicate Giles was escorting Ruth from the lift at the further end of the corridor. Room Three housed Jane, nervously seated on the edge of a different bed, snuggly wrapped up in one of the hotel's complimentary bath robes, as she awaited her cue, with Room Four, in terms of furniture a mirror image of Room Three, deserted, although the anticipated arrival of an eventual occupant was signalled by the upmarket thermos of coffee placed on a low table squarely surrounded by a four equally low, comfortable chairs.

This almost petrified scene had been preceded by an hour of hectic activity on the part of Harry who, on finally arriving in Room Two, had spent a few minutes trying to recover his breath. His heaving chest having only just reverted to its normal resting state, the strain on his lungs the result of his having sprinted up the service staircase to ensure that he arrived slightly ahead of Giles. Not only had Harry been internally windblown with the unaccustomed exercise, he had entered sporting an odour responsible for the infinitesimal wrinkling of Malcolm's nose. As the unimpressed recipient of a waft of the strong perfume that Harry had for some unknown reason smothered himself in the technical officer found himself unable to resist a teasing comment,

"Pretending to be gay?"

"I have my reasons."

"Care to share?" As if. Malcolm, even as he asked, knew that telling was definitely not Harry's forte.

Harry failed to answer, his brain fully occupied with reviewing the previous sixty minutes in a belated attempt to identify any remaining loose ends. Making himself smell like an escapee from a brothel being the result of one he'd suddenly recognised a little earlier. Love, he reflected, forced even the most rational of individuals into strange actions.

Kickstarted by Jane's text announcing her arrival Harry's swift temporary dumping of Malcolm had been due to his sudden realisation that, uncharacteristically, he had made the error of an amateur, one that he would have disciplined a subordinate for perpetrating. By arranging to meet Jane at the hotel reception he'd stupidly forgotten that Giles might be prowling around in advance of his appointment with Ruth. Making amends by falling back on basic tradecraft Harry spurned the lift, which would open in full view of the foyer, instead opting to descend via the rarely used staff stairs. Arriving at the foot of the staircase, whose door was placed in a conveniently discreet corner, he'd eased it ajar cautiously, before sliding unobtrusively into the rear of the entrance area, eyes and ears alert for the presence of his foe. While Giles had apparently vanished for now, Harry had been seriously alarmed to discover that there was also no sighting of Jane. Not wishing to chance revealing himself until he'd cased his surroundings, he'd taken refuge behind one of the very large floral displays that generously decorated the ground floor. Consisting largely of palm trees and some other indeterminate blossoms it provided ample cover for the would be lesser spotted Pearce. Peering greenly through the fronds the question uppermost in his mind was where the hell had Jane vanished to, because if Giles had accosted her the entire edifice of his plan had just collapsed, and he'd be forced to resort to some other means to save both Ruth and the entire black operation. Quite what he'd do under those unfortunate circumstances being uncertain. Before Harry could tie himself in mental knots he was distracted by a flicker of movement emanating from the nearby Ladies cloakroom. As was his automatic habit he took an apprising glance at the figure emerging, while not instantly recognising the newcomer, he thought there was something vaguely familiar about her gait.

Giving the woman a more thorough examination he realised that he was in fact staring at Jane, clad in an unfamiliar coat with, even more surprisingly, her luxuriant dark hair concealed beneath a grey felt hat. Not keen to draw any attention to either of them he approached her as quickly as was possible without looking suspicious, hailing her with the words, "Hello glad you could make it." A greeting that sounded anodyne enough to disarm any watcher, while he simultaneously grasped her arm and steered her into the lift. Once encased in the metal box, noting the questioning flicker in her eyes, he put his finger to his lips, receiving a comprehending nod in return. The friendly silence continued as they emerged, remaining unbroken until Harry ushered her into the bedroom, next to the one currently inhabited by Malcom and his toys. When sound was permissible its first manifestation was Harry expressing some curiosity, "What's with the hat and new coat?"

Jane allowed herself a self satisfied smile as she explained, "It occurred to me that Giles might be around so I thought a change of style would be advisable," adding as an extra, "When I spotted him coming out of the lift I dodged into the Ladies cloakroom for a few minutes". It was occurring to Harry that in different circumstances he'd have been recruiting Jane as a potential spy in the making … maybe he could …no life was complicated enough, but he might consider, if she remained working in the corporate sector, whether he could persuade her to act as an asset. Pushing any future plans aside he rewarded her with his most charming smile, "Well done and thanks."

Jane, as befitted one whose normal working life revolved around events organisation, nodded an acknowledgment as she queried with a tinge of sarcasm, "So Harry how exactly do I rescue the love of your life and exact my own revenge on the bastard."

Harry as he prepared to explain, decided to regard this as a rehearsal for the soon to be undertaken, even more complicated conversation with Ruth, who was in the possession of even less information vis a vis his plans than was Jane. Taking a deep breath, he'd have preferred a whisky but remaining stone cold sober was a requirement for now, he waved her towards one of the two chairs, settling himself in the other as he began his exposition.

"Giles' plan is to have Ruth."

"I know that."

This was not an occasion for ribaldry so it was with a slight bite that he responded to this interruption with a pained. "Jane – please." As she subsided into silence he began again, "Giles has hired the bedroom at the end of this corridor and equipped the head and foot of the bed with chains. His plan is for Ruth to come dressed in just her underwear with a coat, dump the coat at the door and then they er.."

Harry wasn't normally one for shilly shallying but the sudden image of Ruth clad in the black unmentionables while Giles pawed her intimately made him halt. A pause that allowed Jane to ask quietly,

"So I'm assuming that this is not going to go to Giles' plan."

"Exactly. Now Ruth has persuaded him to wear an eye mask – no don't ask why," as he saw Jane's mouth begin to gape, "And also that when they are er .."

"I think the word you are searching for is fucking."

Another image he could do without, "Well they do so in silence on her part."

"That shouldn't be difficult –in the light of your tutorials I now know that his technique makes 'wham, bam and thank you mam' seem like something featured in the Karma Sutra." Recoiling from the Pearce glare she added soothingly, "That was a compliment but continue."

With the time ticking onward, even if his watch happened to be digital, Harry hastily picked up his instructions.

"So they enter. Once Ruth has stripped off her coat and he's donned the eye mask the room is subjected to a sudden power cut, also the corridor loses light at that point allowing Ruth to escape and you to sneak in."

"And Giles?"

"I'll come in with you, take advantage of his confusion to immobilise him for the duration and then it's up to you. The lights will reappear but in a very dim format so…. "

Jane was frowning as she processed the plan, "How exactly do either of us see before the light reappears?"

"I'll be wearing a pair of thermal goggles to detect Giles and the dimmer emergency light that will come on once I dealt with him should suffice. You and Ruth are about the same height and build, so dressed in the same outfit with him wearing an eye mask he'll not know the difference."

"Suppose he doesn't wear it?"

"I've a spare that will be snapped over him – and if all else fails don't worry you and Ruth can vanish and I'll take over."

Jen cast him a curious glance – "And you've fixed the lighting I assume."

"Not personally, but a friend has, and I'll be right outside to intervene if necessary." Harry thought it prudent not to mention that the entire proceedings would be filmed using an infra red camera, he wasn't sure where exactly Jane might draw a line and wasn't about to chance his luck.

Jane was silently mulling over what he'd said before asking, "You mentioned the same outfit?"

"Ah yes – this, not your style I know, but it's what Giles ordered for Ruth so when you swap…." Almost wincing as he proffered the package to Jane.

Jane taking it, cast him a quizzical look as she ripped the box open, removed the lacy contents and after a disgusted survey sighed, "I might have known – he really is a perv." Before adding, "And how do you know it'll fit?"

A question that drew forth an impatient snort, "Really Jane, I've had my hands on your body often enough to know your dress size."

Jane ignoring this reply was now re-examining the wispy underpinnings with a revolted eye, "And do I have to walk down a corridor dressed in these?"

Since she was waving the black suspender belt and easy access knickers as she spoke Harry had to admit that she wasn't being unreasonable. It was just possible a stray member of the housekeeping staff might appear, although on reflection he reckoned that they'd have seen it all and Giles had presumably chosen this venue for its guaranteed discretion. Answering Jane he pointed to the bed, "Not unless you want to – I suggest you wrap yourself up in that complimentary bath robe and drop it just inside the door." As he was inwardly wondering if she was about to duck out of the whole scheme.

As if she'd divined his worry Jane informed him, "Just be thankful that my desire for revenge exceeds my modesty but if you don't mind I'd prefer not to undress in front of you." Before he could state the obvious she continued, "That was different and you were stripping off as well."

Harry wasn't about to argue. His heart might belong to Ruth but the sight of Jane, who was also a very attractive woman, arrayed in black lace might just result in an unwanted involuntary erection. Moving towards the door he gave her the final instructions for now.

"I have to meet Ruth and bring her up to speed. I'll be back after I've seen her." Leading Jane to enquire sweetly, "And how are you going to explain me?"

"The truth."

Causing her to exclaim in astonishment, "All of it?"

"Economy style – that you are someone Giles has played a similar trick on, but more seriously, and is out for revenge."

"Good luck."

Departing Harry thought he'd need it in spades, a view endorsed when he scanned Ruth's face, tension in every lineament as he sat down opposite her in the small café he'd selected for her briefing. Not the most fortunate of phrases given the draughty nature of the knickers she was almost certainly wearing under her very long, dark and buttoned up to the chin, coat. Preferring not to comment on her outfit, and he was definitely not about to suggest she removed the outer garment, her getting arrested for indecent exposure while effectively hobbling Giles' randy plans for the night would do nothing for his own cover and Ruth, as befitted a member of MI5, was supposed to be publicly invisible, he greeted her with, "I ordered you a coffee, latte alright."

Despite her nerves Ruth's smile indicated that whatever was wrong at present she was pleased to see him, and recalling vividly the sight that probably lurked under her upper layer of clothing Harry's below waist anatomy, fortunately concealed by the table, was indicating that he was equally pleased to see her, without the excuse of holding a gun in his pocket.

Allowing her to settle down and take a sip of her drink Harry leant back into his chair as he spoke in a low voice so only Ruth could hear him, these walls probably didn't have ears but the other customers did and you never knew….

"I'll be quick Ruth so this is what you do, meet Giles and follow his instructions until you arrive in the room, once in drop your coat but make sure the floor in front of the door is clear." He paused for a moment took a mouthful of his own drink before continuing, "Get him to put on his mask first, once it's on the lights will go out. Stand still, if you must move step towards the door, but leave the immediate area clear as it will open. I'll enter while you slip out and go down to the third bedroom down on the corridor."

Ruth having listened avidly all this was bursting with questions, the first of which proved she'd followed his instructions step by step,

"Suppose he locks the door?"

"Fake lock – Malcolm's seen to that." Knowing her fairly well by now, mentally as well as physically, with an air of inevitability he said, "Next question."

That one matched Jane's in relation to Giles and a possible refusal to don an eye mask.

"The lights will still go out and you just stand clear of the door I'll deal with the next bit."

Ruth more accustomed to spy tricks than Jane while checking, "Night googles to enable you to see I assume," failed to wait for a reply before asking the really tricky question, "So after I've gone what happens. He'll know I've left and will…."

Harry, who'd been hoping that she wouldn't ask that, tiptoed across a very dangerous area of semi revelation, "He'll think you're still there as he'll be wearing the mask and, well, I discovered that you're not the first woman he's tried this trick on." Gulping as he came to the crux of the matter, "Another woman who wants revenge for what he put her through is willing to take your place and with the mask on he won't know the difference."

"But when he takes it off…"

"By the time he can do that she'll be gone – don't worry Ruth it'll be fine."

Ruth's face suggested it would be anything but fine as Harry pleaded with her, "Please Ruth just trust me." seeing her obdurate doubting face in a final throw he advised her, "I've been investigating Giles for a client…"

"But Harry Pearc…"

"Not my only employer." Harry, sticking to the legend used when approaching Jane, trotted it out for a second airing, "His future father in law wanted me to check him out and I've enough evidence to sink him, that's how I found the woman who is taking your place."

"So why not just tell his fiance's father now?"

Wondering just how many other logical flaws he'd have to negotiate Harry managed another half truth, "Unfortunately some key evidence is still wanted and I can't go public until I have it."

Seeing that she still looked dubious in his frustration he informed her, rather more harshly than so far had been his wont when dealing with her worries, "Ruth you can pull out with the risks to you and Peter, you could go ahead and let him shag you, or you can trust me to sort it out, so now is the time to choose."

Ruth didn't answer as she looked down at the table, as if seeking advice from her coffee. If Harry had ordered tea she'd have probably turned the cup upside down to try and discern her future in the leaves. She couldn't avoid the thought that he had cornered her every bit as efficiently at Giles. What a choice, give in to the egomaniac of the Grid or the benign dictator in front of her. Having made her decision she produced a wan smile,

"It's not much a choice either way, but the idea of helping someone to get their own back on Giles tips it."

Harry was utterly relieved as he handed her a small perfume spray with the instruction, "Smother yourself in that." To receive back the inevitable. "Why?"

"Because I need to go into the room, the other woman needs to go in and so do you. Giles might be in the dark but he'll still have his sense of smell."

"You think of everything don't you?" A comment made with some amusement. For once Ruth's accuracy was off, this being yet another flaw in his plan that had only occurred to Harry as he had wandered his way through the hotel foyer, necessitating a diversion into one of the more upmarket beauty stands in the nearest department store, on his way to meet with Ruth.

Now as Harry the veteran of countless field operations stood listening intently for the sound of action – in his experience the waiting periods were the worst - he was just hoping he hadn't overlooked anything else, a subsidiary issue being to wonder how long it would take him to wash away the pong of the perfume overpowering his more usual but elusive cologne. Jane as he knew was ready, he'd popped his head through her door on his return, proffering the scent along with a small buzzer which Malcom would press to inform her that it was time to creep up the corridor and stand at Harry's shoulder, ready to take up her role as decoy.

Although not prone to nerves, as he stood waiting for the swoosh of the lift doors Harry was quietly admitting to himself that he'd be glad when tonight was history, assuming it came to a successful conclusion for him. Every battle had a loser and the difference between success, failure or total disaster in any operation was wafer thin. While Harry remained clear as regarded his overall operational objective, to destroy Giles and in the process ensure that several members of the government were compromised for future leverage in the interests of the state, rather than those of their commercial playmates, he was forced to admit to himself that his feelings for Ruth, if not exactly clouding his judgment had the potential to overbear it. The only decision he could usefully make at present was that introspection was dangerous for him at a juncture when he needed to be fully alert. As if to confirm this he was now aware of the arrival of the lift and the soft muted hiss of the doors opening. The muffled sound of two pairs of feet treading the carpet on the walk towards him made him lean ever closer – he assumed that this was they but couldn't be certain until they passed his door. Not wanting to move in case he missed any conversation between the pair Harry was dependent on the running commentary that Malcolm, eyes on the his computer feed from the corridor, was relaying into his earpiece.

"Ruth and Giles have just stepped out of the lift. He has her by the elbow, Ruth is looking down at the carpet."

A regular habit of hers when she was either embarrassed or uncertain, as Harry well knew, but on this occasion probably also a ploy to avoid having to look at Giles, and who could blame her.

"No conversation and Giles is holding the room key. They are now approaching and about to pass us."

Malcom lapsed into radio silence as Giles and Ruth could be heard moving past their door, continuing a whispered commentary once they had halted.

"Door open, they're now inside." Adding unnecessarily as the sound of a click carried to their ears.

"Door shut and supposedly locked – you're good to go Harry."

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 ** _Thanks once again for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated._**


	31. Chapter 31 All Cats are Gray

_**Finally managed to wrestle the time out of real life to complete this chapter. Thanks to those who are still reading and even more to those who are reviewing. I've not upped the rating to M but please be warned this is not reading for those of the a romantic disposition.**_

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 **So disguise shall, by th' disguised,**

 **Pay falsehood false extracting**

 **And perform an old contracting**

 **Act 4 Sc1 536 -8**

Despite Malcolm's permission to proceed as planned Harry failed to make any movement, beyond that of a slight shift of his body when Jane, more or less respectably clad in a luxury towelling bathrobe whose pristine white was a signature feature of the hotel, crept up beside him in response to the buzzer alert. This, accompanied by the most infinitesimal of nods, was Harry's sole acknowledgment of her presence. The bulk of his concentration being focussed upon judging the correct moment to intervene, assessed by his listening intently to the conversation in progress on the opposite side of the door being relayed through the earpiece the highly efficient Malcolm had equipped him with, combined with the latter's description of the visuals.

Ensconced out of sight and working on the not unreasonable illusion that he was operating behind securely closed doors, Giles had lost no time in uttering a single command to Ruth,

"Strip."

Her obedience to this peremptory instruction attested by the faint rustling that reached Harry's ears, accompanied by Malcolm's terse confirmation, "Coat removed. Position will be behind the door when opened."

The next sound to penetrate Harry's eardrums being the lascivious tones of Giles commenting,

"Very nice indeed - that sight would rouse the dead," allowing Harry two seconds in which to contemplate the delicious possibility of arranging a practical experiment allowing Giles to personally test the truth of this assertion. After that statement the lack of any further sound was beginning to concern Harry, until Malcolm, fighting down embarrassment at the sight of his cherished colleague in such lacy nothings, hissed,

"He's just walking around her. Ruth isn't moving," adding a couple of seconds later, "Back to his original position: opening side of the door approximately three paces in."

After what seemed an age Giles' voice was once again heard, summarising his market slaver survey of Ruth's body.

"Gorgeous figure Ruth, lovely bum, thighs I can't wait to prise open and I never realised what magnificent pair of tits you have."

While Malcolm was inadvertently breathing his disgust at this crudity into the microphone, Harry more or less affected by the same emotion, while studiously avoiding grinding his teeth, was of the opinion that the biggest tit lurking in the room beyond wasn't attached to Ruth, nor was he ever going to be.

After yet another short pause Giles demanded, "Ruth on the bed and mask on." An order that made Harry automatically square his shoulders ready for action stations, only to stand down when Ruth could be heard cooing, in what he trusted was an attempt at a diversionary tactic, and not for real,

"Please before I blind myself I'd like to see you nude, I mean you're such a fine figure in your clothes that…"

As she modestly petered out, as if embarrassed to push this statement to its logical conclusion, Giles in an even smugger tone - something Harry would have deemed impossible a few seconds previously - complied,

"Of course – anything to oblige the little lady."

In the pause that followed there was only the occasional vague sounds, that the more or less seeing Malcolm confirmed to Harry were the results of Giles eagerly disrobing, until finally Ruth's trilling voice once again reached his ears.

"I must say you are… "

"Very well endowed…I know."

Did the man's conceit know no limits? Although with his curiosity aroused Harry inadvertently pondered the appropriateness of undertaking a cock comparison when he finally accessed the room, abandoning the thought as he heard Ruth politely but with a nicely judged touch of excitement pleaded,

"Please the mask now and then I can see the entire vision."

Hearing Malcolm's whispered affirmation that Giles was about to comply Harry, almost in concert was snapping on his own googles over his head, carefully avoiding any displacement of his earpiece. With this work of a couple of seconds completed he placed his hand securely against the door as Ruth was heard to exclaim in a presumably false admiration, "Just as I'd imagined." Which Harry took as the cue to power his way swiftly, but almost silently into the room now plunged into near total darkness with the results of Malcolm's 'Lights out' push of a switch being complemented by the efficiency of the heavy velvet curtains drawn against the street lighting outside.

Giles masked and blinded was complete unware of this development when suddenly found himself being thrust, none to gently towards the bed leading him to comment with delight, "I know you're keen Ruth but gently please." As he was pushed backwards onto the mattress, landing with a resounding thump for a brief dangerous moment it seemed that his mask might have slipped, but fortune dictated that it held, even with Giles, whose initial pleasure had quickly transformed into alarm began to thrash while yelling his order, "Ruth let me up at once."

As the emergency light came on Ruth, who in defiance of Harry's earlier order to exit asap, was able to identify in the gloom the outline of Giles struggling to rise up. Judging that Giles' struggles might just prevail over her rescuer she came to Harry's aid by the simple dint of sitting on Giles' stomach making him gasp breathlessly against this further unexpected development. Helped by this unplanned but very welcome support Harry having located the handcuffs neatly snapped them around first one of Giles' wrists and then the other. With Ruth's weight adding to Giles' incapacity Harry moving swiftly grabbed a leg that was waving wildly in the air before securing it to the foot of the bed with an ankle cuff. Although when occupied the time seemed endless in actual fact it was within the space of three minutes that a completely nude Giles, his limbs wide apart, had been securely tethered to the bed in the shape of a rough X. Not enjoying this reversal of his intended game Giles was straining against his bonds while continuing to shout angrily, "This is not funny Ruth, I order you to release me."

No succour was forthcoming to this vain request, Ruth wasn't the key holder and in any case the only order she was about to obey was that of Harry, who standing up and trying not to puff loudly with the effort had turned to face her, his finger pointed silently towards the door. Dipping downward to scoop up her coat Ruth swirled it around her, buttoning it up conceal the obscene underwear as she headed in the direction indicated. The split second timing meant that she was exiting into the corridor just as Jane as per her instructions entered. Harry his eyes following this noted the pair of them exchanging curious glances as they passed one another by, both knowing they were victims of Giles, with Ruth also unaware that they were both mutual tutees of Harry. It was risk that Harry had anticipated, but he was deeply thankful that the circumstances precluded conversation, and with it the danger of feminine confidences. With Ruth now departed Harry was concentrating on Jane's actions as she approached the abuser turned victim, the first of which was to cast a vengeful grin in the general direction of Giles who, oblivious to the change of personnel, was still struggling and cursing Ruth in a voice that was rapidly becoming hoarse. Unfazed by this revolting sight and having satisfied herself that Giles was more than a little tied up, Jane, to Harry's surprise, wandered across the room and under the eerie green darkness settled herself in the armchair by the window alcove with the languid air of one who intended to relax for the duration.

Harry wasn't sure what she had in mind but decided, for now, to leave her to her own plans as he nodded and departed himself, careful to close the door soundlessly as he sought out Malcolm.

Seated beside his colleague he caught up with events elsewhere as he scanned the screens Malcolm was monitoring. For the moment they were significant only in their lack of action, displaying Ruth relaxing in the farthest room of the four was drinking the coffee Harry had considerately ordered for her, Jane's room unoccupied, and in the one he'd just vacated, Giles exhausted with the struggle and with disabled vocal chords was now lying still, while Jane remained exactly where he'd left her, seated and immobile.

Malcolm puzzled by this static display demanded of Harry, "So what is Jane about?"

Harry, about to respond along the lines of 'you tell me and we'll both know', suddenly recalled his first meeting with Jane and more specifically the shamefaced whispered confidences vis a vis her fumblings with Giles.

"Doing unto him what he did unto her is my guess."

Malcolm less than enlightened just stared, forcing Harry to expand this gnomic statement.

"He persuaded her to some role play games that involved strapping her to the bed and then left her for about half an hour despite her protests." Pausing to taking a gulp of his coffee he added, "I think that was the night he opened her safe to access the confidential information, although Jane doesn't suspect that was his reason for cultivating her."

Malcolm now understanding still wondered aloud "So she's just going to look and him! And now I think about it Harry how does he get free?"

Harry's answer was terse, "He doesn't – the staff find him when he fails to check out – they can bill him for a locksmith."

Malcolm aware of the likely timeframe thus outlined had a more personal next question cum complaint, "So I need to overstay until…"

Harry was quick to disabuse him, "No I've booked this room for two nights so we don't have to check out tomorrow. Once Jane has left I'll take Ruth away. Alec is coming to relieve you at midnight. Giles doesn't know him so if he catches an accidental glimpse it won't matter."

"And my equipment?"

"Leave the bare minimum needed for monitoring Giles' room. Alex can retrieve it before he leaves."

Malcolm, who took a quasi parental view of his gear would have preferred to remain, but recognising his need to sleep at some point eschewed entering into an argument he'd be doomed to lose. He'd settle for giving Alec a thorough list of his requirements and Alec was an experienced professional at this game. Returning his attention to the monitor Malcolm noticed with incredulity that Ruth seemed to be nodding off, drawing Harry's attention this phenomenon.

"It is a bedroom", but when this laconic response only drew Malcolm's suspicious gaze Harry fessed up with a sigh, "I put a very mild sedative into her coffee, it won't knock her out, just make her a little lethargic. I need to avoid her wandering around, or asking difficult questions from Jane if they cross paths again."

Malcolm while thoroughly disapproving knew that Harry had undertaken an accurate risk assessment. The recognition of this truth however did nothing to ameliorate his personal misgivings as the inevitable reaction when Ruth finally discovered the full nature of Harry's perfidy. Unless Malcolm was wrong, and long term friendship with Harry meant he knew quite clearly how the Head of Section D frequently operated, the hapless technical officer was fairly certain that too date Harry's deceptions of Ruth included seducing her in the guise of a false persona while also sleeping with Jane, spying on Ruth's various movements while pretending ignorance to tease confidences out of her and he'd now capped that off by drugging her. And this was before Harry activated whatever plan he intend to use to cover the next couple of days when the released Giles would be prowling for revenge on his rogue analyst. An increasingly reluctant party too much of this Malcolm could only hope that he'd avoid being caught up in the impending avalanche of Ruth's fury on the feeble excuse that his role had been confined to only obeying orders. Harry, not unaware of Malcolm's probable views, felt disinclined to discuss the matter. On the basis that silence was best for the now they both sat staring at the monotone views of Jane sitting, Giles occasionally struggling and Ruth snoozing, while taking turns to visit the ensuite to relieve themselves of the side effects of their own undrugged coffee.

After about an hour and a half a flicker of movement from Jane caught both of their eyes as they watched her stand up, stretch and discard the bath robe. Even in the gloom her outline formed an eye popping sight as she marched purposefully towards the bed. Giles must have also detected her movement as he was heard to croak, "About time – I'll not forget this Ruth."

Watching both men saw her clamber on the bed, totally ignoring the protest as she straddled Giles. Noting that her arm, poised above his groin area was moving up and down, Malcom to turned to Harry,

"Er"

"Well he wanted sex and I think…"

Malcolm who still retained some shards of ethics protested, "Harry that's rape…"

Harry's conscience as ever was elastic, especially when considering what Giles had planned for Ruth, plus the fact that he already arranged to betray his side of the deal anyway.

"So he set up the bed for a game – he's getting what he wanted and planned,"

If Harry had intended to develop the theme he was halted by the sound of Giles yelling, "Please Ruth." in a desperate tone,

"There you are Malcom, he's begging for it – so it's consensual."

Malcolm wasn't sure that this argument would stand up in court, but given the persons involved it was highly unlikely that a case would ever be brought, and as Jane was now bouncing energetically up and down on Giles it would seem that intervention was no longer feasible. He only wished he could avert his eyes. Fortunately for Malcolm's sensibilities the interlude wasn't destined to last for more than a few minutes. As Jane once again crashed heavily down on the recumbent body beneath her it was to the accompaniment of an ear splitting cry of agony from the direction of the mattress.

While Harry and Malcolm stared at each other in alarm Jane leapt off Giles, snatched up the robe and slammed out of the door like a startled rabbit, reappearing a few seconds later in Room Three.

Leaving Malcom to monitor the whimpering Harry, recalling that he had promised her that he'd be just outside the door – if she asked a call of nature had occurred at the wrong time - followed her into the bedroom where she was speedily discarding her Giles selected underwear in favour of her own clothing. In her anxiety she failed to remind Harry of his promise or to utter a protest at his presence as he asked,

"What happened?" recalling that Jane was unware of the monitor, which had just shown its limitations.

"I'm not quite sure – I decided to try giving him a taste of what he gave me including well," Blushing slightly as she added, "Sex when tied up and…" there was a brief pause as she pulled a jumper over her head remerging to continue her tale, "Suddenly as I came down on top of him I heard a click, then he yelled in pain."

Harry closed his eyes in a wincing moment of masculine solidarity. Jane in her eagerness for revenge had inadvertently made the punishment fit the crime in a wholly unanticipated style. From her description, unless he was very much mistaken, she'd certainly provided Giles with an unforgettable souvenir of the evening.

A broken penis.

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 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated.** _


	32. Chapter 32: The Complication

_**Delayed again so thanks to my readers for sticking with this and to those who continue to review. I'll spare you the usual excuses for the length of time between posts.**_

* * *

 **O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell**

 **The damnedest body to invest and cover**

 **in precise guards**

 **(Act 3 Sc 1 93 -95)**

Standing in the shadows across the street Harry, watching the front of the hotel, where the shouting of the guests whose night of luxurious relaxation had been so discordantly interrupted, was matched by the orders issuing from the bustling of the representatives various emergency organisations in automatic attendance, was taking a series of deep breaths while he savoured a few minutes in which he was able to stand still. The previous hour having been spent dashing around as he attempted to paper over the damage that Jane had simultaneously wrought upon both Giles' body and the black operation.

Having made his unmedical diagnosis of the situation Harry had been contemplating the potential disastrous outcome of Jane's over enthusiastic revenge while its perpetrator continued the task of throwing on her clothes. From a personal standpoint he couldn't care less about the potential damage to Giles' privates, but if medical help wasn't forthcoming quickly the timetable for the entire operation would be thrown into disarray. Somehow Giles had to be declared fit enough to hobble his way to Gavrik's safe deposit about three days hence while clutching the incriminating documentation. The sole spark of hope being that Giles financial dealings meant that he'd be as anxious as Harry to ensure that he made the date, even if it required him to attend with padding that resembled a codpiece marring the line of his normally impeccable tailoring. But, and it was major but, if help materialised without due reason once the painkillers had kicked in Giles, as a trained member of the security services, would surely conclude on reflection that he'd been shadowed, again placing Harry's finely tuned plans into jeopardy.

One option would be for Jane to drop an anonymous note on the Reception desk as she departed. A possibility discarded after two seconds consideration. This establishment employed high end, intelligent staff who could be bovvered to take note of their customers and Harry couldn't risk Jane's being identified in an subsequent investigation, despite the CCTV for the day being wiped, a precaution Malcolm had advised as a general adjunct to the evening's jollity. Pondering the problem Harry arrived at a solution that might have been easier to activate had he not, with the bizarre intention of trying to protect her, drugged Ruth. He'd tackle that issue later: first Jane had to be sent on her way. As if on cue a slight cough from her direction dragged Harry back into the immediate present. Worried as to how she might react when she discovered the likely reason for Giles' reaction to her pounding, after his explanation, prefaced with a "Well Jane…" he discovered his concern had been misplaced. Her reaction to his news displayed an admirable lack of regret, producing a simple enquiry, "Er what do we do – I suppose we can't just leave him."

Relieved that he didn't have to deal with her guilt his answer was prompt, We don't". An utterance that had almost made her gape before she repeated, "But we can't just leave him…" in a tone that again half implied a question.

"Ater what he did to you and attempted to do to Ruth neutering him might be doing the women of the world a favour." Having disencumbered himself of this honestly held opinion Harry relented to say, "But on consideration of your sensibilities I said we do nothing. I on the other hand will deal with it."

Opening the door to usher her out he informed her, "I'll escort you downstairs into a taxi. Then I'll alert the hotel staff."

As they waited for the lift to slide its almost noiseless way to their floor, and wanting to make her consider her future now she was ready to move on, Harry, in the interests of making conversation to fill the solemn silence that was enveloping them both, asked,

"Do you mind me giving you a word of advice re your relationship with Robin?"

Jane quirked a ruthful grin in response, "If it's don't go on top, noted."

Stepping into the lift Harry repressed a smirk, "No but I was going to suggest you keep certain aspects of your er...recently acquired knowledge in that area secret – let him think he's teaching you."

Jane nodded before replying,

"Yes as he's a teacher probably wise." Adding, "Do I ever see you again?"

Wrong footed Harry managed to suggest, "It could be contrived but…"

As he tailed off Jane finished the sentence for him, "Ruth. My return advice is that it might be sensible not to admit too much."

Having arrived at the ground floor Harry accompanied her outside and hailed the nearest black cab, stuffing a generous collection of notes into the driver's hands before settling Jane in, although not before he was suddenly aware of a quick brush of her lips against his cheek with a, "Thanks for everything Harry."

As the cab disappeared down the road, round the corner and into the London night Harry had felt surprisingly bereft. He wasn't in love with Jane, but she'd been good company and he'd miss her. He had, of course, checked out Robin Tindall, the unwitting beneficiary of Harry's tuition. As far as Harry could tell the man was well thought of and comfortably remunerated. Still he might just keep him in his sights – Jane deserved the best, and as he himself was spoken for Robin would have to substitute as Jane's consort. Leaving Jane's future to another day Harry returned to the lift and the now familiar viewing room.

Entering with the intention of discussing the next stage of the recovery stratagem with Malcolm he discovered an additional body cluttering up the space. Alec had arrived early, fortuitously so, demanding the instant Harry's toe connected with the carpet.

"Hi Harry – so what's the plan?"

After a quick glance at the monitor still displaying the outline of Giles wriggling and whimpering Harry turned to interrogate Malcolm, temporarily zoning out Alec,

"Can you track Giles when he leaves here?"

Malcolm also in operational mode was terse but to the point. "Phone hack to trace his movements and any calls or computer contacts, beyond that it will depend on where he is and their systems and firewalls."

Only for Alec to interject, "With Malcolm on the electronic prowl he's nailed Harry."

Normally Malcolm would have given a glimmer of a smile at this well deserved tribute but, being a far seeing individual, his brow was furrowing at the prospect of several unpalatable issues crawling out the woodwork. With Harry's two current madcap interlocking schemes for dealing with Giles' behaviour now threatening immediate disaster, Malcolm had a premonition that whatever came next was likely to be a cause for dread.

Alec unaffected by such concerns and anticipating the thrill of action was asking, "What exactly went wrong Harry?"

"A snapped penis I suspect."

Shaking with amusement Alec's comment of, "Not quite the poking of his privates that Giles planned for the evening then", drew a scowl from Malcolm. Harry noting this decided that it was unwise to irritate Malcolm, whose tiredness was evidenced by bags under his eyes of a size that would house the weekly grocery shop of the average family. Instead responding to Alec's witticism Harry preferred to concentrate on outlining the mission retrieval plan.

"Maybe, but he needs medical attention asap", lest his team thought he was going soft he concluded this with, "if the timetable with Gavrick is to go ahead. If not…." a hanging statement that left Malcolm contemplating an eternity of Giles on the Grid, while Alec now a companion in anticipated agony, would be forced to savour the equally interminable joys of an alcohol free Connie dominated existence.

Having staked his main objective and satisfied that his team was with him Harry swung into command mode.

"Firstly Malcolm pack up your equipment, all of it and you can vacate. Take Ruth to the safe house flat, once there set up tracking for Giles. I'll join you later."

Malcolm who had a tidy mind protested. "Harry I can't get the cameras out of Giles room?"

"We'll organise a return visit tomorrow."

Malcolm's next objection made Alec's eyes begin to pop,

"But Ruth dressed in that disgusting underwear, alone with two strange men!"

"Only Alec is strange – she knows you. Also the sedative has made her lethargic so…"

Alec not offended by the description of strange, he'd been called worse, was almost chortling at this latest revelation. "Drugging women to get your wicked way – really Harry - and what will you be doing?"

"Ensuring that Giles is rescued – so quickly please."

Malcolm starting the withdrawal procedure by powering down the laptop reminded Harry, "Once I've left you'll not have the visual on Giles."

"Not to worry as long as you can hack in later." With Malcolm's tasks organised Harry turned to the renegade officer.

"Alec after you get Ruth to safety I need you to access her flat. I'm bringing forward your planting of cameras in there –with the change of circumstances Giles may not wait until Monday to make his move."

When Harry barked in that voice every subordinate knew better than to argue. Accustomed by training to make quick, efficient and virtually invisible exits it took only five minutes for Malcom to pack up his equipment, while Alec occupied himself wiping all the available surfaces for finger prints in the room they were occupying, followed by the one previously inhabited by Jane, finishing with the door to the room in which Giles still lay. With Malcolm encumbered like a balding Christmas tree, ornamented by his lap top bag and back pack, they departed all of ten yards down the corridor to collect Ruth.

When no response was given to the polite knock requesting entrée and Harry tentatively pushed the door open, a single glance at the completely comatose figure slumped in one of the low chairs informed the three amigos that yet another part of the scheme had gone awry. Harry, striding over to her, became even more alarmed when his gentle shake of her shoulders failed to produce any response beyond that of a low indecipherable mumble, accompanied by an infinitesimal flicker of her eyelids.

Malcolm who was wearying of nightmare scenarios, enquired with an undertone of accusation. "How large a dose did you put in?"

Harry, blown off course protested, "Not enough to have this effect," only for Malcolm to snap back, "Did you take account of her small weight and body mass, and also whether she's eaten today and when?"

The answering silence spoke for itself as they glared at one another, the contest being only broken when Alec said, "So we have to reconsider the method of removal, unless I fireman lift her through the foyer."

Turning his irritation onto Alec Harry snapped, "With the questions that would be asked, especially with what she's wearing – talk sense Alec."

Coming from Harry, who'd dumped them in this quagmire, both Malcolm and Alec were now glaring at their boss thereby producing a simmering triangle of hostility with Ruth at the epicentre, as Alec unabashed pointed out,

"More like what she's not wearing." Risking Harry's further wrath by enquiring jokily, "Any chance of a peek?" producing a unified "No" from the others.

Shrugging his shoulders Alec removed himself by walking to the door commenting, "Lucky I checked the schematic thoroughly – back in a bit", before he vanished into the corridor beyond leaving Harry and Malcolm puzzled.

Sitting down, after yet another failed attempt to rouse Ruth, neither man spoke. Malcolm still annoyed and unsettled by the turn events had taken and Harry wondering exactly how he would account to Ruth for her unconscious removal across London. The wait seemed lengthy but in fact it was something less than five minutes before Alec arrived back in the room, pushing before him a large wicker laundry basket on wheels. If Harry's brow wrinkled Malcolm's showed light dawning as he preceded any explanation from Alec.

"We put her in there and wheel her out by the service lift."

Alec grinned, "As per 'Thoroughly Modern Millie' – I never reckoned on that being your sort of film Malcolm." A comment that produced an oblique agreement, "My mother is a Julie Andrews fan."

While this exchange was taking place Harry was inspecting the interior of the basket with his professional eye.

"Just about enough room – so shall we?"

Without further discussion Harry and Alec hauled Ruth up from her chair, puffing slightly with the effort of heaving her dead weight into the basket, as they carefully folded her in a position that ensured her head and shoulders were wedged into an upright position. As they covered her with a sheet to ensure that at casual glance the contents would suggest stuffed to the brim with dirty linen, Harry just hoped that Ruth would remain oblivious to the indignities being inflicted upon her. Task completed the lid was lowered. It was a tight fit but at least it met.

With that accomplished Harry resumed command. "Very well you two go – once you are outside text me Malcolm. " Ferreting in his pockets he passed a set of keys to Malcolm, "Take her to the flat. And try to hack Giles's journey to whichever hospital they take him too. I'll join you later."

"And your plan?"

"Will work but I need you well away from here – and Malcolm make sure you destroy the CCTV for this evening."

Without further ado the two departed pushing the now Ruth loaded basket before them. Harry, forced to remain settled himself down to await Malcolm's text. About fifteen minutes later his phone buzzed with the message, "Out – in taxi." Exiting from the room as he passed the fire alarm on the way to the staircase Harry punched it, ensuring that a deafening claxon echoed around the hotel. Concealing himself in the ruck of the other guests, emerging from their rooms in various interesting stages of undress, he made his way to the ground floor, but veered away from the designated assembly point to take up his post across the road under a doorway. Eventually he assumed a register would be checked, guests accounted for and then the missing Giles would be discovered. Given the numbers staying on a Saturday evening in London the discovery took longer than he would have anticipated but finally, just as he was contemplating the possibility that he had made yet another miscalculation, he was rewarded by the sight of an ambulance drawing up and a paramedic complete with kit hastening his way inside. After a further long wait he noticed some awkward jerky movements at the entrance area as Giles wrapped up and strapped into a carrying chair was wheeled out prior to being being shoved into the back of the ambulance. That Giles, despite presumably having been feed with some painkillers was still wincing was further feast to Harry's eyes. Even better, when a police officer who'd been helping with the evacuation asked the paramedic announced the name of the hospital in a foghorn voice that carried across in the clear night air, which meant Harry's fingers were instantly twitching as he informed Malcolm of this development. Satisfied that Giles was being taken care of, although sadly only in a strictly legal way, Harry made his way towards the Tube and relative sanctuary of his flat.

Knocking for admission it was Alec who opened the door, hissing, "Malcolm's playing with his toys." Harry on entering the sitting room noted the truth of this assertion, although Malcolm glancing up now seemed a trifle more buoyant than he had been earlier, perhaps the inevitable beer can at his side having had a beneficial effect on his mood. Removing his headphones he advised Harry formally.

"Sit rep – CCTV destroyed and also all record of your online booking for the three rooms. I also hacked the hospital and Giles phone. "

"Giles?"

"Insisted on a transfer to a private hospital which is taking place, but the preliminary assessment is that he'll need a small operation to repair the internal tear after the emergency treatment has had a chance to take effect."

"Which is?"

"Ice packs to the afflicted area to reduce the swelling."

Alec was grinning broadly, "Frozen and shrunken balls – that should teach him."

Malcolm ignored this interpolation as he continued, "So it seems likely he'll be back at work on Monday trying to find Ruth."

"He can try." Surveying his lieutenants Harry prepared to dismiss them, "Malcolm go home you need to sleep." After this rare venture into solitude he turned to Alec, "Can you break into Ruth's immediately and set the spy cameras up before Giles can contact his tame operatives?"

The not so tame operative had his own question. "And you Harry?"

"Staying with Ruth until she wakes up."

Almost as an after thought Alec asked, "What is she going to wear when she does?"

Obviously worried that Harry would change his mind to produce yet another task Malcom was almost out of the door, halting as Harry proved that in some areas he had displayed his customary foresight, "Her own clothes. I used my picklock this morning."

Alec snorted. "Good luck with explaining this situation to a woman who can't be fooled." Adding almost casually, "We laid her on the bed but spoilsport Malcolm refused to let me undress her."

With that provocative final comment, to which neither Harry or Malcolm were willing to rise to, Alec departed followed closely be Malcom who expressed a rare agreement with Alec , "He's got a point Harry and take care of her." before leaving Harry to his self appointed guardianship of the latest asset of the Grid.

Locks secured Harry entered the bedroom – everything was exactly as Alec had stated and thankfully on checking he realised that Ruth's breathing was regular and even. Not quite sure of the etiquette in these circumstances Harry, after some internal debate was about to retreat into the sitting room, when she began to stir.

Moving to the bed and putting his arm around her Harry muttered into her hair, "It's fine Ruth – you are safe", relishing the feeling of her snuggling up against him. It was a short lived interlude, within about five minutes Ruth's eyes were not only wide open, she'd registered the change of surroundings and, pulling away from Harry, although still slightly muzzy, was able to stammer,

"Why am I here and how?"

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading and while I try to work out how Harry answers that question if you have a moment a review would be appreciated.**_


	33. Chapter 33: The Tall Tale

_**Many thanks to those who are still reading and the reviews are appreciated. The delay in this chapter being the result of computer problems that meant a trip and a few days at the local repair shop - still ongoing - also some family reasons. Anyway here is Harry's explanation as the web of deception becomes ever more tangled**_

* * *

 **Take then this your companion by the hand**

 **Who hath a story ready for your ear.**

 **Act 4 Sc 1 54-55**

* * *

Ruth received no immediate answer to this pressing question. Not because Harry didn't have one, while waiting for the effects of the drug to dissipate he'd given his brain cells a workout in producing a response that should pass muster. The delay was due to a preference that all confusion should be cleared from Ruth's mind before he ventured on his tall tale.

As a consequence of the said preference his first words in reply were, "I'll explain but perhaps first you'd prefer to slip into something more comfortable", diverting from the the classic cliché with, "and a little less revealing.", thereby bringing an involuntary blush to Ruth's cheeks as she recalled not just the shudder worthy encounter with Giles, but also the infinitely more pleasurable experience with Harry a couple of days ago consequent upon exhibiting herself in the easy entry knickers. Harry's temporary distraction technique proving effective when Ruth, now sitting up and fully alert, almost snapped with displeasure,

"Into what precisely?" before realising that Harry had waved a silent hand towards the far corner of the room. Following the logical line of vision Ruth almost gasped when she recognised two holdalls, bearing a distinct resemblance a pair last seen secreted in the base of her own wardrobe. After a couple of seconds comprehension dawned as she swung her legs off the bed and moved to investigate further. While she headed to check out the bags, temporarily suspending her interrogation, Harry, ever the opportunist, seized the advantage thus afforded to vanish through the doorway, pausing only to inform her, "I'll sort out a meal while you dress."

He was gone before she could utter any protest, although a moment's reflection suggested that perhaps this was delicacy on his part, motivated by allowing her an opportunity to undress and clothe herself respectably before giving her the answer she'd demanded. As she unzipped the bags, shaking out a variety of somewhat creased garments, a selection that much to her relief included some rather more conventional underpinnings, a set of further questions were being framed in her mind. Questions which could be bluntly summarised by the phrase "What the hell was he up to?" accompanied, after she carefully counted out a week's supply of knickers, the subsidiary one of, "how long was she expected to remain here?" Dressing speedily and dragging the thoughtfully packed hairbrush through her tangled locks she was feeling considerably less bedraggled as she set out to face him.

In the time it had taken Ruth to accoutre herself respectably and emerge into the sitting cum dining room Harry had managed to defrost a chilli con carne, retrieved from the his deep frozen larder of supplies courtesy of his favourite delicatessen, now sitting fragrantly on the table alongside an uncorked a bottle of red wine and two very deep wine glasses. Decoding Ruth's, "I want answers expression" Harry well experienced in deflection techniques threw her his most charming smile, the one that few women had ever resisted, while sympathising, "You must be hungry so eat first and then I'll explain." Ruth, while not completely bowled over - she recognised a fob off when she heard it – followed his advice sufficiently to sit down. As Malcolm had presciently informed Harry she'd hardly touched food all day. Logically, since she was apparently immured here for the next few hours at least, grilling Harry in a strictly non culinary mode could be put on hold. Even as she made that decision it flickered through her mind that although Harry's machinations were wrapped with a degree of consideration she might just have avoided the trap sprung by Giles at the price of walking willingly into another. A thought made extra pertinent given the item of clothing missing from the otherwise well packed holdalls. It was a misgiving that she would prefer to have avoided since, even if he was something of a mystery, she felt safe with Harry, and yet despite this feeling of security she was unable to dispel the single constant fact gnawing at her brain. Ruth the woman might be inclined to trust him but Ruth the analyst was consistently advising that, beyond knowing him in the biblical sense, she had virtually no additional data on which to base that assumption. Parking that disquiet for now she began to spoon out a generous portion of chili as she admitted, "Yes very well, but tell me is Malcolm still at the hotel? I assume he's had a long day as well."

Harry acting as wine waiter, pouring a very generous glass, paused for a second to reassure her, "No - I sent him home, he can mop up tomorrow – now eat and drink.

"For tomorrow we die?"

"In our line of work possibly" a very careless reply that received its due reward when Ruth fastening instantly upon it, "Er…"

Harry cursing his misstep was quick to retrieve it, "As I'm sure you've been told working for Harry Pearce includes risk."

Recalling briefly some of the files she'd perused - the contents of which were more than enough to put one off their fodder - Ruth couldn't possibly argue with that assertion and anyway as the first smidgeon of food hit her stomach she became too occupied with eating to disagree, or register the relief in Harry's eyes as she submitted. With a slight rumble of his own stomach reminding Harry that beyond a mid morning hurried sandwich he too had been deprived of nutrition he followed Ruth's example and fell to it. For the next few minutes or so conversation was desultory, further delayed by the domestic necessity of pot washing and coffee brewing.

It was only when they were both ensconced on the sofa that Harry had seduced Ruth on a few short days ago – his mind and fingers wondering about the possibility of a repeat performance – that Ruth returned to the attack as the questions tumbled from her lips.

"So why my clothes? And how did you get them? And why am I here?"

Recognising that he could no longer delay Harry, leaning back in what he hoped was a relaxed position, took a slow sip of his coffee before commenting, "In reverse order then – I used a picklock to break into your flat – incidentally I'm sure that Harry Pearce would have insisted on better security for you and…"

Ruth refused to be diverted as she reminded him, "Well he's not here is he, and I still want answers. So why?"

Harry was sighing inwardly, persistence in an analyst was a virtue at work, in these circumstances it was a threat he could well do without, "Because Giles wasn't going to keep his word, so you can't go home for now. Did you really want to spend the next few days in just your coat and that underwear?"

He had at least managed to stem the queries for a few seconds while she processed this before asking, "How do you know that – I mean Giles' plans."

For once Harry was able to give a totally honest answer, "Malcolm hacked Giles comms," Well it was partly honest, no need to mention that Malcolm had been hacking Giles from the instant the smooth bastard had emerged from the pods with Dolby. Crucially for his current purposes it was fortunate that no one could deny Malcolm's integrity although Ruth had the inevitable question, "Why?"

"Because he likes you, and doesn't trust Giles."

Ever the pragmatist Ruth had a further query – "But I can't stay with you forever so what …"

"As I told you Ruth I'm working on something that will discredit Giles, but I do need a few more days."

Ruth swallowed as another thought occurred to her "And my stepbrother …"

Harry refrained from mentioning that as far as he was concerned the unlovely Peter could go to hell in a handcart. Harry would be happy to organise the travel arrangements, premium class. Instead he reassured her, "He'll be okay. I'm betting that if you're not around Giles won't take action."

"Unless he wants to flush me out."

Damn did she have to be so sharp – that was exactly what Harry would have done in Giles' place.

"Not to worry. Malcom will let us know if Giles makes a move and we'll arrange for Pete to take a trip to somewhere out of reach." ' _Preferably a disused mineshaft.'_

"Couldn't I just take a chance that Giles might change his mind?"

"Er after you helped chain him to the bed! Besides which…"

Ruth who had been about to indulge in indignation skidded to a verbal halt at this very obvious hesitation, "Besides… so what else Harry?"

Taking a deep breath Harry began his explanation as to why Giles was likely to hold a very deep grudge, "As you may recall he was under the impression that you remained in the room after he was shackled."

"Yes."

"Well your substitute got a little carried away and thought it would do Giles good to know what it felt like to be the unwilling partner and…... let's just say she got a little over enthusiastic and managed to break his penis."

Ruth didn't look too upset at this news, in fact she began to laugh until Harry killed the merriment with the reminder, "And Giles will be blaming you which is why you must stay here."

Ruth nodded gravely, "I can see that, but how did I arrive here anyway?"

Putting into practice the basic training precept of sticking to a simple story you could easily sustain Harry disgorged the near truth, brutally stating, "You were drugged."

Ruth shocked into temporary speechlessness failed to respond as she considered, not producing the question he'd anticipated before commenting with a puzzled frown, "The coffee – but you ordered that surely."

Harry salved whatever conscience he had retained, his regrets mainly centring around the problems he'd inadvertently created, as he replied, "I didn't order it.". True, he'd just made up the thermos.

"So who?"

"Ah well Giles, he probably presented his preferred brand of coffee to the hotel laced with whatever, along with an instruction to make it up and deliver it to his suite. Because I'd booked your room in the name of Giles Farmer I suspect that catering staff got mixed up and placed it there in error."

Having just unfairly traduced the hotel's housekeeping and keen to put the issues arising from the evening to bed, followed if possible by Ruth, he finished his tale, "We managed to smuggle you out through the service area."

"And Giles?"

"Getting medical attention – Malcolm is tracing."

On that note he stood up held his hand out for her cup stating, "And now we should both turn in.". A suggestion that produced what might have been a protest from Ruth,

"Yes and Harry you forgot to pack me a nightdress."

Harry smirked, "Do you really think you'll need one?"

Overconfidence had just encouraged a serious misjudgement on his part. Ruth's apparent stoic acceptance of the situation had masked a growing albeit hidden and internalised worry. Until now she'd trusted Harry to pull her out of the mire - not that she'd had much choice - arguing down her doubts. However the results of this belief were not, in her assessment, positive. The current situation report stated that she was unable to return to her own home, in even deeper trouble with Giles, threatened with arrest when she finally emerged from her current shelter, and seriously concerned about Pete who might be used as a tool to capture her. That the sardonic voice at the back of her brain was reminding her that if the roles were reversed Peter would be unlikely to reciprocate her consideration only added to her mood, best characterised as annoyed anxiety. The same doubting voice was also reminding her yet again of how little she knew about Harry, unusually, despite not discovering any real Intel on him she'd taken a great deal at face value, mainly because he was a friend of Malcolm. She'd to admit that the explanation he'd proffered for the events of the evening sounded plausible, but wasn't that the stock in trade of the con man? Even Malcom presumably could be deceived and now she was recalling that after their very first meeting Malcolm's proffered explanation for his dealings with Harry had included the statement that sometimes Harry Pearce employed dubious individuals to do his shady bidding. Summed up at present she was trapped in a gilded cage with a familiar stranger whom she'd been stupid enough to be seduced by.

Harry's final words had been intended as an expression of desire, for Ruth in her wavering mind they translated as a suggested payment for bed and board. His presumption had lit a touch paper as she snapped,

"All I want to do is sleep – alone please."

Harry's face fell rather more quickly than another expectant part of his anatomy, but the seething expression in her eyes flashing diamonds of disdain advised him not to argue.

"As you wish – but take the bedroom." Hoping that by acting the gentlemen she might at least offer him a share. Nothing doing, she was implacable as, with purely perfunctory thanks, she stalked into the bedroom closing the door firmly behind her with more than a hint of a slam.

As Harry picked up the two coffee cups and washed them out, tipping the dregs down the sink the best he could do was make himself comfortable on the sofa, wrapped in the throw since he didn't dare knock and ask for the spare duvet stored in the bedroom. Wriggling his way down the cushions while stripped to his underwear he hoped she wouldn't take too long to relent, the bed was so much more comfortable.

It was about seven o'clock in the morning when, just as he began to stir he was jerked into full wakefulness by the buzzing of his mobile. Alert almost instantly with the caller display showing Malcolm's name he answered with alacrity. Malcolm didn't waste time on pleasantries as he opened with,

"Giles is scheduled to be operated on later today. So far no activity in Ruth's flat, but Alec decided to watch over Pete as a precaution and has just advised me that Special Branch arrested Peter about an hour ago."

"Ah so an attempt to trace Ruth."

"Indeed." Malcolm made no further comment until Harry after a few seconds thought asked, "Can you come over and sit with Ruth?" Before Malcolm could enquire further he explained, "I need to contact Dolby for a face to face and…"

Malcolm, having a very good idea of why his presence was so necessary cut in,

"You want to make sure Ruth stays in the flat."

"Exactly. And she mustn't know about Peter."

* * *

About three hours later Harry was involved in yet another attempt to explain and untangle the situation as he stood beside Dolby, both of them apparently rendered rapt by the industrial architecture of the Thames Barrier. Dolby was already in a tetchy mood since having planned a relaxing day with his wife, free of the cares of office, he'd had to dump his disgruntled spouse to deal with his least amendable section head. Mrs Dolby had arranged a trip up river to somewhere near Greenwich with lunch booked in a well reviewed restaurant, intent on enjoying the spoils of being married to a man of influence. For Dolby, wanting to avoid the threatened week of silence with the inevitable havoc the 'make amends' retail therapy would wreck to his bank account, the only upside was that Harry asking for help was a rare pleasure to be savoured. Unfortunately the pleasure carried with it the reverse, the danger that the black operation was about to explode in their joint faces, with political implications that could seriously disable their service.

Watching the tidal Thames ripple past them on the way to the coast it was some minor relief to learn that Harry's judgment of Giles had been proved correct, and that in a very few days the service would be rid of a greater risk than even Harry posed. Whatever one thought of Harry's moral compass at least no one could accuse him of profiting from his position or ever betraying his country. Having listened to the update though Dolby wasn't entirely fooled as he enquired,

"Thank you Harry. After what Malcolm has passed onto me regarding Giles conduct in post with regard to his staff management and failure to appreciate the efforts of Miss Evershed to disentangle that debacle a fortnight ago I'm relieved that the operation can be wrapped up swiftly."

Before Harry could relax in that rare approval Dolby added in a no nonsense tone, "But you didn't drag me out here just to update me on something that is Malcolm's role, so what has gone wrong?"

Harry didn't waste time trying to fudge the issue. Dolby was smart enough to realise that if Harry needed his help he was desperate. Trying to sound matter of fact he launched on his second explanation within twenty four hours.

"Basically Miss Evershed. Giles took against her and….."

So Harry's tale unfolded, with certain parts redacted and other subtly altered. As far as Dolby was concerned he'd met her accidentally and then after she confided in Malcolm Harry had been called in and they'd worked the substitute with an asset. Dolby, even if suspecting that he wasn't being told the entire truth, looked gratifyingly aghast. When Harry was finally finished Dolby, after a few minutes thought, expressed his views more explicitly than was his diplomatic wont.

"Even if your operation fails to dislodge him he's finished. I know we encourage staff to keep their relationships in house due to security concerns but coercion is unacceptable." Just a touch a hint of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth, "Still he'll not be in a position to complete an S24 for sometime I assume."

"And such a stickler for protocol as well." Added Harry, the non stickler who also had failed to complete the said form, despite the bedding of Ruth.

"So Harry why are we here? And where is Miss Evershed at present?"

"She's in a safe house being watched by Malcolm and I'll make sure she stays there. I need the help with her stepbrother. I can't intervene personally at present so can you lean on Special Branch to release him into alternative custody, but not let Giles know they've done so?"

Dolby was a little hesitant, favours were not to be called in lightly. "I could but why – if it's only until Wednesday?"

"He's a suicide risk. if he does do anything stupid Ruth would feel responsible and probably leave the service."

That she would be a major loss spoke for itself after the reports Dolby had received, leading him to ask, "Who do we release him to?"

"Ostensibly whichever Section sounds reasonable to Special Branch, crucially they need to keep quiet for security reasons. In reality Alec White should be able to cope with him. I'd suggest one of the safe houses on the outskirts of London." Seeing the objection Dolby was about to raise he reassured the DG, "He'll be blindfolded on the journey."

Dolby anxious to salvage what was left of his Sunday swallowed before saying, "Very well I'll see to it – but you'll need to contact Alec as I can't be seen to employ him."

If Harry was surprised at anything it was Dolby's failure to blink was the name of the disgraced officer. His superior noting this commented, "Alec had to be decommissioned but he and Connie James were a great loss to the service and I prefer to keep them close."

Harry smiled, a rarity where Dolby was concerned, "But not closer!"

Dolby unbent sufficiently to admit, "I've never thought that Alec was an enemy and nothing was ever traced back to Connie or her Russian network, which I understand you've availed yourself of for the greater good."

Pulling his car keys out of his pocket Dolby as he prepared to leave threw his final shot, "I'm looking forward to Wednesday morning Harry. Just let me know how you want to play the unmasking."

For once reasonably in accord the pair parted, with Harry heading back to his own hire car in the fervent hope that Ruth's mood had improved.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading. If, despite my delays, you have a moment please review_**


	34. Chapter 34: Liars All

_**Can I please thank my regular readers for their patience. Like many of us real life has intervened endlessly. Thank you especially to those who reviewed. I should say that this is a bit of a filler chapter as I have time gap to fill in and a small writer's block on how to bridge it.**_

* * *

 **Volumes of report**

 **Run with these false and most contrarious quest**

 **Upon thy doings**

 **Act 4 Sc 1 59 - 61**

* * *

Waking up after a very deep night's sleep Ruth, having rubbed her eyes and checked the small clock on the bedside table, was shocked by the realisation that it was half past ten in the morning. She never slept that late even at weekends. Recalling the previous night's revelations she attributed this extraordinary circumstance to the accidental drugging as described by Harry... Er Harry – where was he – not in her bed – so he must have slept on the sitting room sofa – good, because now she had a chance consider her situation minus the intrusion of his distracting presence, Ruth thought – for all of about two minutes - and then decided that she required rather more in the way of answers than she'd received to date. Having thus resolved to resist the deployment of his charm offensive, which had, she was now convinced, transformed her into a sucker, she climbed off the bed, wrapped the dressing gown loosely around herself – the only article of nightwear that Harry had packed up for her – and spurred on afresh by the annoyance at the underlying presumption encapsulated in that omission, combined with her morning determination, she marched into to the sitting room, flinging the door open as she stated with scant ceremony,

"Harry I want….er..." tailing off with shock when the only person in view was Malcolm, balding head hunched over his laptop, headphones clapped over his ears and even more displacing, dressed in a casual shirt and jumper worn over a pair of grey well pressed corduroy trousers.

Alerted more by the movement of air than any sound he glanced up, at Ruth, who highly embarrassed at confronting her colleague while dressed in a towelling robe that could fly open with the least cautious of movements, was now standing irresolutely behind the sofa in an effort to conceal as much of her body as possible.

Reading her confusion Malcolm gave her a friendly smile as he explained his presence, "Harry had to step out and thought you might be alarmed if you woke up alone in the flat."

Considering the row the previous evening Ruth, quite correctly divined the real reason, as she informed Malcolm, "Or to make sure I don't run away." A statement not a question.

Malcolm merely shook his head. "I think you have more intelligence than to take that risk, but you can always discuss the issue with Harry. He'll be back shortly."

Remembering that, although Malcolm's presence here was undoubtedly due to his being a friend of Harry, he had also proved a highly supportive colleague of herself from the instant she'd set her unwelcome to Giles foot on the Grid, Ruth drew the line at accusing him of being economical with the truth. It was after all Harry who was the real object of her ire. Malcolm, who was actually a very skilled operative himself when required, interpreting the hesitation took advantage to suggest, "Why not have some breakfast Ruth. I'll make the coffee while you er...…" not sure if this advice would be taken as an order.

Ruth completed the sentence for him, "Get dressed – and thanks Malcolm."

It was in fact about two hours later before Harry returned, a delay that had done little to sweeten Ruth's mood. Beyond the initial explanation for his presence Malcolm had proffered no further information and she sheered away from trying to relentlessly pump hm. It was unlikely to yield results. Malcolm was also a spook of long standing and therefore by definition no stranger to subterfuge. If proof were needed she just had to consider the dynamics of the Grid, wherein Malcolm had managed to conceal his utter contempt for Giles from its subject more successfully by a country mile than the field officers, Danny and Zoe. Pragmatically, since Ruth would still be in need of an effective supporter when, or if, she ever returned to the Grid, running the risk of alienating Malcolm would be an act of utter folly

Occupying the time before Harry returned in the contemplation of her predicament, the washing up of breakfast dishes and, in the desperate acknowledgment that she was stuck here for a yet to be determined duration, the unpacking and hanging of her pirated clothes, were the best she could conjure up as displacement activities. Both of which still left her with plenty of time to fume and finally, apart from keeping Malcolm supplied with coffee as he sat twiddling his mysterious way in and out of various codings, she was forced to sink into the sofa of seduction to await the wanderer's return.

Harry, when he finally arrived, had come intellectually armed, handing her a Kindle with the comment, "I've downloaded copies of some of the more well thumbed classics in your private library." A considerate move that while disarming her complaints simultaneously made her wonder exactly how much of her flat remained unexplored by Harry. The answer, had she had the nerve to ask, and he the slightest inclination to admit the truth, would have been that virtually no nook or cranny had been left unseen as he sought to understand more about this woman he had fallen for. With Malcolm seated almost as an arbiter neither party felt disposed to continue their earlier argument in front of the provable third in the crowd.

Malcolm while sensing the tension, was more curious to know the outcome of the meeting with Dolby as he enquired quietly, "All well…"

"More or less but I had to go and check a couple of points."

Translating this statement as meaning that Harry had popped back to Serge's flat to check whether Gavrick had made any further communications Malcolm obliquely informed his superior, "I've now organised that all contacts come straight to your phone until you've dealt with Giles."

Harry picking up on the coded response smiled, "Thanks, and I'm sure we've take up enough of your Sunday."

Grateful for his dismissal Malcolm stayed not upon the order of his going. A departure that left both Ruth and Harry staring at one another uncertainly. Ruth because she recognised that she was in a vulnerable position, and Harry because he was desperate to return to the more relaxed relationship of a few days previously in a bid to weld their joint passions into an indivisible whole before he was forced to uncover his true identity.

Ruth was the first to speak as she fondled the Kindle with an affection that made Harry wish it was his body being squeezed as he heard the words. "Thank you Harry." Nothing further, but her smile made what passed for his heart, hitherto only affected by the need to maintain a regular beat, skip one.

"Can I suggest we eat before you sink into a good book?" Halting Ruth's one step towards the kitchen as he added, "I don't want to risk you being seen in Central London but we could trek upriver to Henley, make a day of it. I know a good restaurant."

Since, whatever her feelings some fresh air would be welcome, Ruth didn't need asking twice, "That would be lovely Harry."

As she vanished into the bedroom to make up her face Harry was plotting. A good lunch, some decent wine and a discussion about books and plays, if he handled their awayday carefully might just set him up nicely for better night's sleep, preferably after a lengthy horizontal workout. Some reassurance about the safety of the odious Peter should help, as well as the assertion that he was due to present his revelations about Giles to his employer on Wednesday. Admittedly there was the minor matter of her thinking his employer was Giles' prospective father in law rather than the even posher Elizabeth Windsor, but when the truth was eventually revealed Ruth, as a spy herself, would surely understand the necessity of his subterfuge. In the meantime, given that until Tuesday morning dawned there wouldn't be much action to get out of bed for, he might as well make a pitch for plenty of action in it.

* * *

Harry and Ruth may or many not have spent the reminder of Sunday pleasantly but for Malcolm it had definitely been otherwise. Seizing an opportunity to sleep, a pleasure not to be underestimated with the lifestyle he was leading at present, he'd spent the rest of the Sabbath day, despite his natural tendency to honesty when silence would not suffice, trying to persuade his mother that a weekend trip was vital. "Sorry Mum it's work." A vital prevarication since the one occasion on which she'd met Sarah had resulted in his mother becoming unsettled and crying that Malcolm was about to desert her. When not talking to his mother Malcolm had been otherwise occupied in checking the progress of surgery on Giles' privates, in the fervent hope that the bastard would be well enough to hobble to his Tuesday date with the Nemesis that had been parented by Harry Pearce's plot, pollinated with Ilya Gavrik's shady business practices.

If Malcolm had felt any relief at being back on normal territory next day,, in the form of the Grid floor, this vanished almost instantly when Giles entered, accompanied by the usual fanfare from the Pods, the sole visible sign of his weekend chastening being some extra padding that marred the otherwise perfect outline of his Saville Row tailoring. The only other person to notice this being Danny, whose whispered comment of, "Didn't know codpieces were back in fashion," suggested that he had plotted unerotic intentions on Giles' crown jewels. Considering what Giles had been up to when he sustained his dishonourable injury Malcolm found himself ducking his head down over the computer station trying to conceal an unbidden smirk.

The jollity was short lived. Within a few minutes of Giles hitting the Grid all the staff, including the most junior of juniors, were called to attention while Giles made an announcement. "As you may have noticed Miss Evershed is not present. It is my sad duty to inform you that she has been selling on state secrets and a warrant has been issued for her arrest. Any attempts to communicate with her or aid her will be treated as criminal in intent."

Zoe and Danny seemed about to expostulate at this but, as had been customary since Harry departed, they looked to Malcolm for a lead, heeding his nearly invisible shake of the head. As Giles returned to his office demanding, "Malcolm in five minutes.' they sat in a huddle whispering, while checking that Jed was not in earshot.

Zoe with fellow female feeling was muttering, "Malcolm surely you don't believe this tosh?" While Danny's equally subdued but nontheless fiery contribution to the debate was a disgusted, "He's been out to get Ruth from the instant she arrived."

Having viewed the near perfect footage of Giles' paid minions breaking into Ruth's flat the previous day planting the aforementioned incriminating documents, Malcom contented himself by saying with perfect truth, "Let's see where the evidence actually leads us." Well aware that the evidence Giles claimed as exposing Ruth's perfidy would ultimately prove to be a diversion signposting the evermore corrupt machinations of Giles himself.

Danny and Zoe seemed included to argue, but Malcolm was mercifully prevented from saying more by the sound of his mobile. The display showed the name Dolby, leading Malcolm to excuse himself before sitting at this desk and quietly intoning, "Sir."

"Malcolm, just to inform you that the most recent developments as requested in the plan have been activated."

A coded indication that Dolby had followed through as promised with Harry.

"Thank you Sir, and the plan for conclusion remains on track."

An almost audible sigh of relief could be heard, although as a professional the actual reply was a simple,

"Very well please continue to keep me informed."

Putting down his phone just in time to see Giles hovering in the doorway of his office, plainly annoyed at being kept waiting by his minion, Malcolm looked up and for the second time in five minutes stated,

"Sir."

"Who was that?"

"The DG wanting to know the progress of our operation."

Giles almost snapped, "That operation is a distraction decreasing efficiency in this department. I trust it is nearing completion."

"Yes Sir."

"Good. After it is concluded I will expect a thorough change in circumstances, beginning with the personnel on the Grid. Ruth Evershed was not the only unacceptable appointment made by Harry Pearce."

Malcolm allowed himself the rare luxury of a smile, "Sir once it is concluded I'm sure that staffing changes will be in put in place very swiftly indeed."

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading. I thought I should post this before I go on holiday. If you have a moment a review would be appreciated.**_


	35. Chapter 35: Spy on Spy

_**Many thanks to those who are sticking with this story and the reviews have been gratefully received. The end is in sight but first Harry has to acquire his evidence.**_

* * *

 _ **The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.**_

Act 2 Sc 2 90

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Sitting on a bench, ostensibly surveying the green space before his eyes, Harry's mind was occupied in reviewing the twin strands of his increasingly convoluted relationship with Ruth. A wholly unanticipated personal complication that had managed to entwine itself with the entrapment operation launched with the laudable objective of removing the carbuncle that was Giles Bamford-Smthye from Her Majesty's service. Having run over yet again the plan for the day – Giles was due at the safe deposit at 2.30 prompt – the initial part of which Harry had already accomplished through the simple act of arriving at this designated rendezvous at the designated time - all he had to undertake in the first instance was to wait, the curtain raiser to the main action of ensuring the capture of appropriately incriminating photographs embellished with an impeccable timestamp. His final task for the day being to unlock the safe deposit courtesy of the key he'd collected earlier this morning from Serge's flat and then remove the falsified but convincing documents of betrayal ready for showdown scheduled for the morrow. A simple almost textbook proceeding. Any ex field officer of Harry's calibre had undertaken infinitely more complicated and dangerous operations on a regular basis. With the procedural timetable firmly locked into his memory banks Harry was now free to spend a few moments considering the issue of Ruth, who still remained in ignorance that Horatio Price was the alter ego of Harry Pearce. A pairing that brought Jekyll and Hyde to mind, in tandem with the uncomfortable consideration as to which of that pair more closely represented Harry Pearce, the maverick doctor whose experiments led to disaster, or the murdering creation that had resulted.

From a strictly personal standpoint the last two days had been a revelation since Harry and Ruth, united by the necessity of remaining under the official MI5 radar, had been unable to stray far from his flat. In fact after returning from Henley they hadn't strayed far from the bedroom and, while he'd taken full advantage of the situation to introduce Ruth to the pleasures of regular sex, she in her turn had inadvertently introduced him to the lesser experienced pleasures of domesticity. After a lifetime of casual encounters, telling himself that his job was the barrier to emotional entanglement resembling depth, when in reality he had simply been indulging himself without any willingness to commit, he now found himself longing for the moment when he could finally reveal the truth to Ruth, thereby setting their relationship on an honest basis. How Ruth had managed to wriggle under his defensive barriers he knew not. Despite Harry's innate ability to plot, entrap and generally be devious, he wasn't fundamentally a great one for introspection, not when he carried within him secrets that were the stuff of nightmares. Whatever was the something in Ruth that had first intrigued him, then ensnared him, and whether it was due to her sheer intelligence allied with a subtle attractiveness that had proved to be ultimately irresistible he knew not, and to be frank he didn't really care. That it existed, and as a consequence for the first time ever he'd met a woman with whom he was planning a long term relationship was sufficient. An added bonus being that as Ruth was technically a spy herself he was saved the bother of trying to explain his job…...other than the minor matter of his current deception. And how glad he'd be when that was over. Not least because, while revelling in the chance to be private, the operational reasons obliging him to vanish and reappear like an MI5 version of the Cheshire Cat were becoming tedious. The secrecy that has so far been the motif of their relationship having obliged him over the past forty eight hours to expend a great deal of effort twisting the ranging topics of conversation to books, theatre, travel, basically to anything that diverted Ruth's attention away from the tricky issue of his supposed job, the nature of his contact with Harry Pearce and any form of personal clue that might just match what Ruth had read in her boss's personal file. Malcolm having dutifully reported back that he'd traced her hack, while heaving a huge sigh of thanks that the doctored photo he'd substituted in the aforementioned file had passed muster. Admittedly the conversation after his unmasking would probably prove a little awkward, but Harry was betting on her being so grateful to be rid of Giles that she would overlook and understand the pretence that had been, in essence, an unintentional accident. Anticipating their future he'd welcome the extra piquancy of seeing her across the Grid everyday, although he did intend to keep any pda's strictly private. There was no way in which Jed's wholly fictitious claim that Harry Pearce indulged in a regular shagfest on the Meeting Room table was going to become a fact. A report that produced a sudden hard line across Harry's lips when he considered the eventual fate of Jed, softening as he recalled a not dissimilar encounter across his kitchen table yesterday. An enjoyment that had been slightly marred by Ruth's subsequent insistence on purifying the area before preparing food, with the result that when she finally climbed into the bed she had carried with her a distinct whiff of eau de Dettol. On the brighter side it meant that this morning, before Harry's departure to shaft Giles, he'd had a great deal of fun in the shower performing a not dissimilar act while helping Ruth to lather herself with the far more aphrodisiac scent of jasmine. A happy memory that was threatening to spoil the line of his trousers.

This possibility was felicitously averted by the arrival of a totally different female body joining him on the bench with the command, "A final check on the requirements Harry."

Surveying Connie Harry felt this was precaution a tad superfluous, Connie had clearly read her script with the thoroughness that had been second nature when she'd been formally employed by the Service. If he presented as a middle aged affluent faux trendy business man, clothed in his expensively cut blazer, handmade shirt, bespoke trousers and leather briefcase Connie had outdone him. Used to seeing her in the standard nondescript dress of the middle aged woman who rarely glanced at the fashion pages, she was now arrayed as a typical county dowager, resplendent in no nonsense tweeds, sensible shoes, with her head supporting the type of hat the Queen was wont to wear in her less frivolous moments. The ensemble enhanced by a pair of earrings and a dinner plate brooch, while her arm ported a handbag of large dimensions and a walking stick. Living up to her real life persona as an analyst Connie interrupting his slightly bemused expression informed him crisply,

"Malcom said this was high end."

"So you come wearing a pure Woolworth brooch – really Connie."

"Woolworths went down the tubes a few years ago, and this brooch is pure Malcolm – it has a camera so I can video Giles entering and leaving – straight feed to Malcolm with a time stamp."

Harry, once again amazed by his techie's skill, grinned as he commented, "He must have got that idea from Simon and Garfunkel."

Connie's brow wrinkled for a couple of seconds as she raked her memory for the reference before saying with an answering twitch of smile, "Of course – 'his bow tie is really a camera' although somehow I don't see you going to America Harry."

Remembering an earlier conversation with Ruth, Harry who, apart from his friendship with Jim Coaver, maintained a deep loathing of all things CIA, would normally have agreed with her verdict but chose to ignore that barb to concentrate upon her primary request,

"Connie the plan is straightforward. Once Malcolm has confirmed that Giles' is approach to the building housing the safe deposit you amble past the site taking note – or as it transpires a video – of his entering to make the drop and his departure empty handed."

Connie's brow wrinkled as she considered having looked down at Harry's accessory, "Surely he's carrying a briefcase as well so how… "

"Won't matter as long as he deposits the papers."

Connie, being skilled in how to evade capture, sounded unconvinced as she protested, "But if he does use a briefcase surely he can claim that someone else put the documents in there?"

Harry snorted, "He can try, but as only the only two others to handle them happen to be Malcolm and DG I'd love to see that charge stick."

Connie gave up, not before stating her unvarnished doubts, "I'm still dubious and why can't you do all watching?

Harry was wishing he was back on the Grid where his biding was law and argument rarely allowed, not that anything short of a gag would prevent Connie from expressing an opinion, and even then she'd have bitten her way through the obstruction, he reminded her, "Giles has already met me and has asked Malcolm to dig for data on Horatio Prince, so if I hove into sight he might smell a rather large rodent."

With Connie's objections finally silenced Harry asked his own question, "I appreciate the need for the clothing but why the walking stick – sudden lumbago?"

"No, an excuse to walk slowly and stop if I need to."

Once again Harry contemplated the loss Connie was to the service, as a first rate analyst he'd have been happy to argue for her restoration to a post on the Grid, or would have been until Ruth had fallen into his life. Somehow he couldn't envisage ever indulging in carnal antics with Connie, the little death was one thing, a death wish quite another.

Connie was now asking again, "So after I've done my part I just go home? What are you going to do?"

"I give Giles time to get clear – Malcolm will be tracking him and then I head to the deposit with the key and remove the documents, having taken the necessary photographs and after putting on a pair of gloves?"

"Why – the gloves I mean?"

"Malcolm didn't say but he was most insistent."

Before they could speculate further both phones buzzed into life. Connie having read her text stood up, brushed down the tweeds, adjusted her brooch and leaning on the stick hobbled away in a manner so realistic Harry almost believed that she was genuinely struggling to walk. Unable to do anything for the next twenty minutes or so he leaned back against the bench and relived again the last two days with Ruth. He could only hope that she has stayed in the flat. Fortunately Malcolm's report of events on the Grid on Monday had convinced her that she needed to lie low – almost literally given that if you were stuck in the flat your choice of available activities was reduced to reading, watching the TV or playing games, preferably of the adult variety. Some reassurance had been required about Peter who currently nursemaided in a safe house with Alec for company. A joyless assignment in which Peter, according to Alec, was constantly complaining, stuffed with self pity while blaming everyone other than himself for the fix he was in. Alec, his usual casual joviality fraying, had texted Harry to suggest that Peter needed a new job to distract him, the ideal post being the starring role in a snuff movie.

It was about twenty five minutes later when Malcolm texted Harry to inform him that Connie had the footage, Giles was on his way back to Grid, via an appointment at the hospital, so now it was time for Harry to complete the operation.

Noting loath Harry walked briskly to his destination making a quick check for any suspicious watchers, Giles might have departed but given the alleged potential of the documents he wouldn't put it past Ilya Gavrik to have organised a further minion to oversee the entire procedure. A small gizmo that Malcom had inserted on Harry's phone advised him that the only form of electronic communication nearby was the CCTV, easily spotted and just as easily avoided. Otherwise, since it was inconceivable that anyone spying would be minus a phone, the area was clear. Recognising the building, smart. modern, multi storey with plate glass window offices, innocently hiding the more dubious basement area in which the safe deposit boxes resided, he approached in an unhurried confident manner being careful to angle his entry to avoid anything beyond his vague shape being caught on camera, which Malcom would deal with anyway. Once inside the building, merely nodding at the security staff while showing them a key he descended down the stairs to enter the 'no questions asked because we don't want to know the answers' area. Wondering vaguely what other secrets lurked behind these green painted anonymous metal doors Harry approached the number scribbled on the keyring. After yet another furtive check, especially to see if any spy cameras were in place - but no - he inserted the key, suffering a heart stopping moment when the lock stubbornly remained stuck. Had he been given the wrong number, and if so how the hell did he get out of this fix? Gritting his teeth in frustration he exerting some pressure, exhaling with relief when the key finally began to budge, and turn. Opening the door, that emanated a slight creak, there lying before his eager eyes sat an innocent looking folder, whose contents were potential dynamite. Pulling on the gloves as per Malcolm's instructions, prior to whipping out his phone, Harry took a couple of pictures of the item in situ, checked the document - correct thank God - took another happy snap of the title page - and then dropped the folder into a clear plastic bag which self sealed before placing it in his briefcase. Clanging the deposit door shut he emerged out into the fresh air trying to look casual. Mission finally accomplished. Denouement scheduled for approximately 10.30am the next day.

Had he not been obliged to remain in character he would have danced his way down the street. Tomorrow Horatio Prince would vanish and die while Harry Pearce, having made a miraculous recovery, would return to his rightful place on the Grid.

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 _ **Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated.**_


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